


Demons

by ehre_wahrheit



Series: Project Bloodlines [2]
Category: Supernatural
Genre: Alpha!Dean, Alpha/Beta/Omega Dynamics, Angst, Beta!Sam, Castiel's Past, F/M, Fluff, Gabriel is weird, I don't know, M/M, Multi, Nightmares, OOC characters, Okay everyone's protective, Omega!Castiel, Omegaverse, Protective Dean Winchester, Protective Gabriel, Thoughts about death, Thoughts about suicide, Trigger Warnings, seriously, they'll be tagged soon though, what do i tag
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-07-12
Updated: 2017-01-02
Packaged: 2018-02-08 13:00:48
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 64,757
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1942104
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ehre_wahrheit/pseuds/ehre_wahrheit
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Life's peaceful and quiet until suddenly, it's not.</p><p>Castiel is grappling with demons he thought he's left behind.</p><p>Dean is trying to keep his head above the water.</p><p>Gabriel isn't sure what his priorities are anymore.</p><p>Sam is only now realizing that reality bites.</p><p>And the truth about what happened two decades ago is just the beginning.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Well... alright, here it is. Part two.  
> -  
> This part will have not two, but four active changing--there isn't a pattern, sorry!--points of view: Castiel, Gabriel, Dean, and Sam. The reason for this is... well, I wrote something that happened right after the events of Spirals, and will be posting that here if I am finally content with that has been written. This is set roughly two months after Spirals--I'm getting out of your hair now. Enjoy!
> 
>  **Disclaimers:** I do not own, or claim to own, Supernatural. I am simply taking the concept of characters for my own imagination.
> 
>  **2017** that chapter count is a hopeful one. i've redone the outline and i'm trying to flesh the story out. thanks for sticking with me!!! ~~*chants comments comments comments*~~

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Tumblr ](http://theorynpractice.tumblr.com)

The moment he wakes up, when he opens his eyes, he feels disoriented.

Not for the first time, when Castiel Novak finally opens his eyes, he isn’t sure if he’s safe or if he’s been compromised. The room is—it’s clinical, to say the least. There are no clear scents he can pick up, but that’s not unexpected. He takes stock of himself—he’s not tied up, he’s still clothed, and his injuries are still as sore as they were when he went to bed last night.

He’s not even sure he can remember where he went to bed last night.

He curses under his breath and stands up—his shoes are still on his feet; weird—and looks around himself. He woke up on a queen-sized bed, with gold comforters and light brown pillowcases. It looks… it looks so inviting, he regrets having to have left.

Across the foot of the bed is a beautiful mahogany dresser. He walks forward and sees himself on the mirror. He’s wearing a pair of jeans, and a light, long-sleeved shirt, but that isn’t what got his attention—it’s the small but noticeable bump on his belly, being hugged by his shirt.

He gulps, nervous and scared, because—because… he’s pregnant? When—when did that happen? As far as he knows he’s been on birth control; there’s—he can’t _be pregnant._

With shaking hands he opens the dresser drawers, finding them empty—all of them, and he screams in frustration. He’s beginning to hyperventilate—it’s a very familiar feeling.

He can remember—he can feel that there’s one thing… there’s only one thing that can calm him down right now.

Castiel takes a deep breath, squeezes his eyes shut, and tries to remember, as hard as he can—he can see a face, a beautiful face; bright green eyes, framed by auburn eyelashes; freckles—

“Dean,” he breathes. He finally remembers—his mate—where’s his mate. “Dean?” he calls, again, his hand moving to his abdomen protectively. This is Dean’s child. He must protect—“Dean?” he shouts, panic setting in again. “Dean! Dean, Dean. Dean—”

A door opens, and he feels dread.

“No,” he breathes, moving backward, eyes widening in fear, because it’s him—it’s that slimy bastard again, the same man he’s had countless nightmares of. But he’s gone, he’s dead, Castiel had made sure of that. “No, no, no! Where’s Dean?” he yells, his instincts demanding his mate. “Where’s Dean!”

The bastard just fucking smiles, his eyes cruel, but his voice is soft and sweet when he says, “But you’re mine. You’re mine, Castiel, aren’t you? Why are you asking for someone else?”

“NO!” Castiel screams, backing away as he steps forward. “No, no, no!! Stay away from me!”

“Castiel,” he breathes, “I’ve missed you so bad, my sweet. Haven’t you missed me?”

“Dean,” Castiel continues to say, “Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean, Dean.”

“But he isn’t here! I’m the only one here for you now! And I will free you, I will free you, Castiel, and you will be mine.”

Castiel sees a silver glint, and that manic light in the other man’s eyes. He feels fear, his arms covering his—Dean’s—child. “No,” he breathes, because this can’t be happening. No, this man doesn’t have the right to ruin his life—not again. No, no, no—Dean—

He’s coming forward, oh god, oh god he’s not going to be able to protect Dean’s child—

No, no, no—

“CAS!”

Castiel shoots up, his heart thundering in his chest and hand clutching at his—

Flat stomach.

It was a nightmare.

He flops limply down onto the bed, eyes wide and still scared, and all he can see are Dean’s beautiful green eyes. He curls up, hiding under Dean’s body, wishing he can just keep himself under Dean’s ribs and stay safe. Tears run down his cheeks, and only then does he realize he’s sobbing.

“Babe,” Dean says, and Castiel is relieved that Dean is picking him up off the bed, holding him up against his chest. “Hey, baby. It was just a nightmare. I’m here—I’m here now, okay? I’m right here. Shh.”

Castiel keeps sobbing, shoving his nose against Dean’s neck, greedily scenting the Alpha. “You weren’t there,” he sobs. He can barely stop himself from wailing at the moment—but he has to try. For his Alpha, he will try. “I woke up alone, in a room that isn’t—isn’t ours—” he continues sobbing. “Then—I was. I was with child,” he breathes, scared, one hand still clutching at the flat panes of his belly. “And then—then he came, and. He was about to kill our child, Dean.”

Dean tightens his hold around Castiel, and the Omega is thankful. Maybe Dean’s strong arms will be strong enough to hold the both of them together. “No one’s going to kill our kid, Cas,” he promises, his voice breathy, no doubt surprised that Castiel would want a child. Castiel is surprised, too, and he wishes he could have let Dean know in any other circumstance. “And I’m here, they’re not gonna get you, alright? I’m right here.”

He sobs, but he lets himself be soothed and calmed by his Alpha. Soon they’re both lying down again, Castiel completely on top of Dean—he is no small man, but Dean is _amenable_ to his weight and he’s fine with that.

“I want children,” Castiel breathes. He sniffles. “I want to see Gabe.”

Dean laughs, the vibrations moving from Dean’s chest to Castiel’s head. “Only you would say you want kids and then ask to see your brother.”

“Will you come with me?”

“Sure babe. In the morning, though, alright? I don’t want to see candy in my hair.”

Castiel chuckles, kisses his Alpha on the throat before settling again. “G’night, Alpha.”

“Good night, Cas.”

 

When Castiel wakes up again, it’s to bright sunlight, an empty bed, and very cool sheets. He feels a slither of pain and fear lance through him, but he finds himself relaxing, too. In the month that they’ve lived together, Dean has always been the first to get up—showering and brewing coffee and making breakfast in the hour and a half before Castiel himself woke to join him at the kitchen.

He rolls over now, burying his face onto Dean’s pillow and inhaling, just like he has done every morning since he agreed to move in with Dean.

The past month has been tumultuous, at the best—the only steady and not-so-rocky thing he has is his relationship with Dean, and even that seems to be standing on sand. He keeps having nightmares about things he hasn’t for a long time and others he’s having for the first time. He fears one day Dean would get too tired from waking up to him screaming, having to shake him out of his own mind, that one day Dean would leave him in this bed all by himself.

The first week of them having arrived from that dreadful mission, Dean, his younger brother Adam, and himself have stayed in the hospital: both he and Adam simply to be observed, in case their injuries and the shock to their bodies become too much, and to avoid them getting stressed.

It’s Dean who has had to stay in the hospital that whole time with doctors and nurses guarding him twenty-four-seven. According to the medical report he’d received (Dean had received a copy of Castiel’s as well, when they announced their mating) the Alpha had been far too close to the explosion he’d caused for him to be completely safe.

Dean had been deaf in his left ear, the first three weeks, but he’d gotten better now.

After that, everything was just—everything had just been hell. There were questions—Harvelle, Singer, Turner, Johnston, Carter, Hale—they were all there, asking them questions about how it happened, about every single detail they can remember from that night, and from what happened after.

Castiel honestly couldn’t remember what happened after falling asleep in the van—all he remembers is being intercepted by a plane and being picked up, but that’s it.

Of course, there were the inevitable questions about Henry, too, which Dean had taken care of smoothly. No one questioned his motives, his decisions, even his state of mind—and it had left Castiel reeling at how _easy_ they seemed to have gotten off the hook. They did _not_ mention Henry, back when they were checking in at the start of the mission, but they also didn’t mention Jackson de Ville when they were finally giving their reports.

But everything took a turn for the worse when they found out who Adam Milligan was. John, of course, came under fire of Seraph’s board of disciplinarians, but Adam had been far too high in his brothers’ presence to care much for vouching. Needless to say, no one has seen John Winchester in almost two months.

Dean and Castiel didn’t see each other much after the first month: Dean had been too busy trying to glue the pieces of his, Adam’s, and Sam’s lives together that he didn’t really have time for much else. He tried to find a way so he and Dean would see each other, even just in passing, but whenever it happens Dean is always attached to Gwen Campbell or Benny Lafitte or Joanna Harvelle or whoever it is who sunk their claws on his mate first.

But Dean still found time, for some reason, to get to Castiel when his instincts begin screaming for him to find his Alpha. There was a time Dean had held Castiel for a straight hour while they were supposed to eat dinner.

The announcement of their mating was _not_ as small as he wanted to make it out to be. Of course not—both he and Dean are notorious throughout their company, of course everyone is surprised they managed to settle into whatever limbo people are thinking they’re in. Dean’s family (those who matter, at least) is receptive to Castiel, and he is glad that they accept him just as easily as he had accepted them. Gabriel, being the little piece of shit that he was, challenged Dean to a good-natured brothers’ brawl (which Dean won, of course).

It’s the talk of the town for about one whole week.

When everything has died down—much to Castiel’s utter _relief_ —he was surprised to have found that Dean had managed to move him into the Alpha’s apartment. Sam lives away from the Hosts’ residences, of course, but he still comes around often enough that he’s a staple in the house. Adam was resolute in living with Dean, even going as far as threatening to testify _against_ John at his hearings if he tries to interfere, and Castiel had been impressed.

It is obvious that, whatever fate may fall upon them, the Winchester blood is far more dominant.

Castiel had been the one, just yesterday, designated to pick Kate Milligan up from the airport and to bring her into Seraph’s headquarters.

She was everything a bedraggled Theta and mother one might imagine.

She was worried, asked too many questions, talked too much; Castiel had to glare at the pavement outside of the car as he drove in a plea to keep his headache from coming on and overcoming him somehow. But he understood—he did, he really did, and he kept quiet, listened to her sniffle and sob and tap at her knee nervously in the half hour drive it took.

Katherine Milligan was a very smart woman.

She knows about Seraph, of course—having gotten impregnated by a man who works in the higher ups of the company, she had the right to know what, if not her, her child is falling into, whether either of them wants it or not. She had asked who was sent to save Adam during his kidnapping—and because he wasn’t ordered _not_ to, he told her the truth.

“Dean,” he said honestly and quietly, sparing her a glance and feeling awful almost immediately at the broken, torn look that graced her face at the admission. “Miss Milligan—”

“Kate,” she said, but her gaze is far away and she seemed to not completely be with him at all. “Call me Kate, darling. What had John _done_ to his own children?”

Castiel wanted to know, too. But a selfish, childish part of him didn’t, either, because he had seen the part of Dean that the Alpha wasn’t proud of; he had seen the parts of himself that _enjoyed_ the destruction they could bring upon another person’s life.

He didn’t—doesn’t—want to know how much darker they could become before the shadows become strong enough to encompass them and they’ll disappear, forever. He wanted to protect the meager living people he loves from that monstrosity, from watching him turn into something they never expected him to become.

“We’ll be five minutes to the main gates once we pass that border sign,” he answered instead, pointing at the erected sign that proclaimed, in large, bold letters, _‘Welcome to Heaven’s Gates’_ , and he scowled at the words that once promised him safety and sanctuary, now offering him nothing but chaos and probable impending doom. “Is there anything you want to get, anywhere you’d want to stop by before we get there?”

Castiel glanced at her just in time to see her shake her head, her blonde hair flouncing about her shoulders with the movement. He nodded, floored the gas, and navigated the complicated streets and roads of the Seraph subdivision once he had gotten in through the front gates—Heaven’s Gates, as the sign a few miles behind him proclaimed.

There were three more gates, besides the main one—one right across Heaven’s, where Henry and Dean and their team tried their beg for freedom, which had been dubbed the Gates of Hell; the one to the East which people had strangely began calling Earthly gates (probably to compensate for the two other names) and the one to the west which people are only now beginning to call the Gates to Purgatory: if only because it lead straight to a patch of deserts that Fledglings used as survival training field during their time at Seraph.

Seraph has two main, large, four-lane roads that cross each other at the direct center and leads to each of the opposite gates; but it has side roads and alleys and mini streets that it looks like a city in its own right, with houses and residential areas and businesses and that large, ominous looking building that Kate pointed out when they passed it on the way to Dean’s apartment.

“That’s Seraph headquarters,” Castiel answered quietly, sparing just a look at the large building that dominated the space where the two roads meet. “It’s where meetings, hearings and the sort are held.”

“What does the public think it does?” Kate asked. Seraph _is_ like a city, Castiel reminded himself—it’s big, has its own political ladder, it even has its own _schools_ —but not everyone here is a member of Seraph. Some people are here just to make it look like it’s another gated community, with innocents and civilians mixing with veterans and well-trained assassins. It’s a scary place, not as reassuring as the ads make it look to be on TV and on the internet.

If Castiel could just warn anybody, he’d tell them never to move into Heaven’s Gates. It would be the worst thing they could imagine doing not to themselves, but to their children; because their children _are_ the property of Seraph, if born in the local hospital—the same one Castiel and Dean and Adam had been brought to—and they’ll be monitored and watched and graded and criticized.

Everyone here—they’re just pawns in a large game of chess, and Castiel feels sick about it.

“The administrative building,” he said, before turning one last time, driving three blocks down, and turning again into Dean’s apartment complex’s parking lot, greeting the guard a bit, and getting out.

Neither he nor Dean had been redesignated or reclassified yet, and he didn’t know if that was a blessing or a curse.

Kate had gotten all mother hen like on Dean, Sam and Adam the moment she entered the house: ordering all of them around. She told Dean to make a run to the market; Sam to do the laundry; and Adam to start cleaning the house.

And then she had dragged Castiel into the kitchen to start preparing dinner with what little food he and Dean had left in their cupboards—it was domestic, and nice, and then Bobby, Ellen, Jo, Benny and his mate Andrea, and a few others of Dean and Sam’s friends came around to welcome her into Seraph’s clutches and it was nice.

It was relaxing, for all of them, to finally have that after a few long months of nothing but stress and pain and chaos.

That still didn’t stop Castiel from having the nightmare that made him want to just die.

He decides to get out of bed, a smile creeping into his face at the sound of voices in the kitchen. They were quiet, and soothing, and the smell of coffee almost makes him a wanton, moaning thing right then, right there, in the hallway between the stairs and the main parts of the house.

Castiel steps into the kitchen, and the conversation between Adam and Kate, Sam and a beautiful blonde Omega, stops, as they stare at him for a moment, before they continue. Dean is at the sinks, washing dishes it looks like, and Castiel walks over and wraps his arms around his mate, kissing the back of his neck.

“’Mornin’, Cas,” Dean murmurs, one cold and wet hand covering his own to bring it up to the Alpha’s lips, who chuckles when the Omega expresses his disgust with a strange sound from the back of his throat. “Still wanna go see Gabe today?”

“Yes,” he whispers back, unsure as to why they’re talking in such low tones, but wanting to do nothing to disrupt the peace around them either. “What’s for breakfast?”

“Hmm. Bacon, pancakes—no eggs, babe, I know you don’t like eggs—and a cup of coffee.”

Castiel smiles as Dean turns to wrap him up in his big arms, and he melts right into his mate’s hold. He probably looks like every stereotypical Omega there is out there, but he doesn’t particularly care—he’s basking in this small sense of domesticity, no one should judge him without knowing his life story.

 _The life story not even your mate knows,_ a voice in his head whispers, and Castiel wishes it never came around. Dean’s arms had always felt like home—like warmth and beauty and poetry and knowledge and every little sappy thing Gabe had teased him about through the years. He withholds a sigh, gives Dean one final kiss and disentangles himself—ignoring the short look of hurt and confusion on the Alpha’s face before moving to the table and seating himself beside Sam’s guest.

Neither Kate nor Adam is awake yet—Adam had taken the couch to give Kate his bed—and for that Castiel is a little glad. He likes Kate—adores her, even, for everything she was able to do for Adam and Dean and Sam; but he was still only learning how to cope with finding himself being enamored by Adam. He was a child, for all intents and purposes—babied by his mate, adored by his soon to be mother-in-law, protected by the whole of the company he works for—but Castiel is… he is uneasy, with the way he had gotten acquainted with the young Theta.

Dean and Sam were his colleagues before working Adam’s case—they had met on several occasions for joint training and multiple tests, and therefore they all knew one another though not intimately. The way he had gotten to know Adam—with the loss of his older brother as what he doesn’t want to but actually does think of as collateral payment—makes him feel uncomfortable. And it only makes it worse that he feels… he feels like he already finds the boy as a part of his very own family—no matter how small and dysfunctional it is.

Adam had not taken lightly to the news that Henry was dead, of course—he’d gone into denial, the first few days, and then went catatonic—the only person he’s ever talked to during the whole week he was in a trance state was Dean and Pamela Barnes’s assistant, Samandriel.

But he’d moved on—he is happy now, in the protection of his brothers and the hold of his mother; and that baffles Castiel more than he can admit. He is a naturally cynical person—growing up the way he had, he doesn’t see anyone _not_ become such a cynic—and he thinks that Adam had never really felt for Henry what his brother felt for the young man.

He is shaken from his thoughts by a hand on his shoulder and a plate being slid in front of him on the table.

“Have you introduced you _friend_ to Cas, Sam?” Dean says, giving Castiel an affectionate kiss at the top of his head before moving away. The way Dean said ‘friend’ made Castiel look at Sam sharply—that had implied _anything_ but simply being ‘friends’.

“Sam?” Castiel prompted, raising an eyebrow primly in that way that Sam called his ‘weird interrogation shit’. He sent a glance to the beautiful blonde lady beside him—and beautiful she was, with her wavy hair and soft skin and big brown eyes and plump lips.

Sam, on the other hand, looks rather uncomfortable as he flushes. He’s flustered, Castiel surmises. “Uh—Cas. This… this is Jess—Jessica Moore, a front liner over at the hospital. Jess—this is Cas, Castiel Novak. Dean’s—Dean’s, uh, mate.”

Yup, definitely flustered. And Castiel can see the difficulty he’s had with saying the word ‘mate’—probably because—his eyes widen at the thought. _Sam is enamored with this lady._ He turns a friendly smile at Jessica, only to find her grinning and blushing, too, and she only flushes worse when Dean comes around to serve her and Sam their breakfast plates as well.

Dean rolls his eyes affectionately at the both of them. “Look at these two idiots. They’re far worse than I was when _I_ was in the denial stage.” He winks at Castiel before turning around and retrieving a fourth plate, probably for himself.

“You had a denial stage?” Castiel questions, intrigued. He, of course, did—he doesn’t think that it’s ethical to find your mate as a work colleague especially on sensitive missions.

Dean doesn’t answer, just rubs the back of his neck.

Castiel grins, and he looks at Sam and Jessica—they’re both looking at him, wide-eyed, and Castiel has a second to interpret that Sam’s look is one of imploration, and Jessica’s is one of wonder. (She’s probably wondering if the Alpha in the kitchen right now is the same Alpha she keeps hearing of in rumors.)

He turns, towards Dean who’s face is caught between one of fear and another of suspicion, before he makes a decision.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **Update 4/10:** Hello, friends! Thank you for still reading this fic (lol) and for finishing the first one. It has been more than a year since I started this, and it's still on going. Thank you to everyone who has been commenting, leaving kudos, or just hitting (?) the title when it comes up. Spirals is, at the moment, in the process of being edited. I am planning on putting up the finished chapters when I come out of hiatus. I hope everyone is, and stays, well.


	2. Chapter 2

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He falls down back to the bed, covers himself with the warm blankets, but he feels cold. It’s not a cold that can be chased away by blankets and fire—it’s the kind of cold that can only be soothed by sweet laughter and mugs of coffee shared in front of the fireplace, snuggled under warm blankets with feet on his lap and a tuft of dark hair annoyingly rubbing against his chin—
> 
> In short, it’s the cold inside of him that only Castiel has ever gotten to around warming up.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hi there!
> 
> Writing this chapter was exciting. It's all fluff and happiness with the undercurrent of angst and LOTS AND LOTS of secrets but... good news!
> 
> We're meeting Gabriel (YAY!)
> 
> But the thing is, I may have characterized him as someone NOT like the Gabriel we usually know. If you're interested, you may want to read [ this ](http://peur-van-dunkelheit.tumblr.com/post/92228445296/just-a-note-on-my-gabriel) before you read the rest of the chapter, but it's not that important.
> 
> [ Tumblr ](http://theorynpractice.tumblr.com)

It wasn’t such a special day when Castiel found out what Dean’s whole name was.

People would probably find it quite strange, that they’ve almost been mated, have been working for years, and the only time they found both of each other’s full names a week before they decide to live together.

If Castiel thinks properly, he’d notice that it was a special day: it was one that wasn’t as hectic as how their lives have been in the past couple of weeks. It was strangely reminiscent of all the other times Castiel had after missions—his last one being the most chaotic, in his opinion.

(Probably in everybody else’s, too.)

But they were in Dean’s apartment, watching some old cartoons, cuddling in Dean’s couch with a bowl of pizza held securely between Castiel’s arm and the curve of his torso. Dean was being rather distracting—pressing wet, suggestive kisses on the side of his neck before completely nuzzling his throat—and Castiel wanted to do nothing but watch his cartoons.

“You’re being annoying,” he informed Dean, a little cross. “Will you please stop?”

“But this is the only time we’ll ever get this done!” Dean whined—though the Alpha will probably deny whining to the grave—and continues kissing Castiel’s skin more aggressively. “Cas,” he continues, “this is the first time in _weeks_ I got to touch you. Cut me some slack, will ya?”

Castiel rolled his eyes in answer, driving his elbow to the Alpha’s rib in retaliation to a rather… ahem, _arousing_ marking. “Dean,” he breathed, closing his eyes, because he was sure that if he didn’t, he’d have to mount Dean and ride him and—and, well. Those were activities to be reserved for a better and more opportune time. “Not now,” he begged, still breathless, “please, Alpha?”

Dean groaned, and sighed, and buried his face into Castiel’s hair.

“Humanity,” he suddenly said, and Castiel focused on the television again, thinking Dean was probably complaining about something in the outside world and thinking nothing of it until Dean said it again.

Now annoyed and not aroused, he looked—glared—over his shoulder at the Alpha, who was peeking at him with one eye over the tuft of dark hair he still had his face smashed against. “What?” he asked irritably.

Dean sighed, his breath ticking the hairs at the nape of Castiel’s neck, and he felt the almost imperceptible tightening of the Alpha’s arms around him. “Humanity, my middle name. If you—” he cleared his throat. “If you ever, you know. Want to use the parent voice.”

Castiel was, honestly, surprised—he had thought not everyone applied the ‘full name rule’. He had once chalked it up to Gabriel’s unorthodox method of raising a child, but now—now he was proven wrong.

“Dean Humanity Winchester,” he said, testing out the sounds, and finding he liked it. He liked it very, very much. “Dean Humanity Winchester.”

“Campbell,” Dean added, his voice low against the knob of Castiel’s spine, “if I’m in _real_ shit.”

Dean Humanity Campbell Winchester. It was a beautiful, beautiful name, one that fit the Alpha well, and Castiel closed his eyes, content and happy. He hummed, kissed Dean on the neck, and then decided, what the fuck. “Nazareth,” he said, softly, right against the skin of the Alpha’s neck.”

“What was that?”

“Castiel Nazareth Novak—that’s my full name.”

“… _Nazareth_?”

“It’s derived from the language of the angels—Enochian. _Narzath_ —pillars of happiness.”

“Eh-na— _what_ now?”

Castiel laughed, the soft shaking of his shoulders transferring a bit to Alpha beside him. “Eh – na – za – ra – tah,” he said, slowly, making sure to articulate each syllable as he’d been taught as a child. “ _Nazarth,”_ he finished, saying the whole world in the same fashion it should be—in a rhythm, like a poem, read like the beautiful language that it is.

He could _feel_ when Dean rolled his eyes. “Yeah, okay, angel.”

Castiel snickered. “I chose that name,” he said. “Since—since I had already known how to speak, write and read in Enochian I—I chose that name when they asked.”

Dean was silent then, and Castiel was sure that if he could see his face, he’d have that look of perplexity and awe and adoration that never failed to make Castiel feel like he was the most precious being on earth, even though he knew he wasn’t, that in a scale of preciousness he’d be on the same grade as cement.

Dean is silent now, too, just like then, his face now guarded instead of scared.

“Dean Humanity Winchester,” Castiel says, and he feels it when Dean shifts from defensive to defeated. “ _Did you have a denial stage_?”

“Oh god,” he hears Jessica say, and then Sam is giggling, but his eyes are trained on Dean, who is looking at him and he’s scared that he’d overstepped his boundaries—again—that he’d be turned away—again—

But Dean is rolling his eyes. “Like you fucking didn’t,” he says in answer, stalking towards the table now with his own plate of food. “Eat up, we’re going to see your brother, aren’t we?”

“Yup!” Castiel answers, sufficiently mollified.

But he is assured now.

Dean had denied wanting him in the past—now he isn’t.

He gives Dean a quick peck on the mouth before devouring his breakfast.

 

The rest of the morning is spent in a lethargic kind of preparation—everyone moves slowly and sluggishly, laughing and teasing more than they are moving. Adam and Kate wake up within an hour of each other a few minutes after Castiel left the table to take a shower, and so he is pleasantly surprised at walking into the kitchen and seeing Dean, Sam and Adam throwing suds of dishwashing liquid at one another while squealing (“God dammit Cas, I don’t squeal!” complains Dean as he tries to outrun a rocket of soapy Scotch Brite courtesy of Adam.)

Seeing three grown young men playing around crazily seems like the perfect image of domesticity, and he feels happy—except it’s the first of December and he wants to spend the day with Gabriel, as has been their tradition for _years_.

Only this time, there will be Dean—but that doesn’t bother anyone, does it? He’s sure Gabe congratulated him at least once when he was still in the hospital.

“Dean,” calls Castiel, a little distracted by the sight of Jessica and Kate at the table—they look like mother and daughter, with their blonde heads drawn together like that—“it’s time to go. Get in the shower. Adam, Sam, I hope I won’t arrive home tonight with this mess still looking so unlike my kitchen.”

“Nope!” Adam and Sam both answer, and then Sam bodily shoves Dean out of the kitchen to the hallway.

Castiel sidesteps the Alpha, if only to avoid having his clothes—a pair of slacks, his favorite shirt under his sweater and a muffler around his neck—dirtied as Dean moves towards the stairs.

A few minutes  later the two are being sent off—“I’ll make sure the boys clean the kitchen up—Castiel, _go_ ,” orders Kate, who rolls her eyes when Castiel tries to remind the boys (as they’ve all taken on calling Sam and Adam) to clean up _again_ —and then they’re in Dean’s beast of a car.

“I missed you, baby—I’m home, I’m home,” Dean had said the moment they arrived in Dean’s apartment a month ago, caressing the sleek hood lovingly—almost erotically, if you ask Castiel—before leaning in and rubbing his cheek against the metal. “I missed you _so bad._ ”

Castiel, not knowing what the hell was wrong with his mate, stared in utter horror as the Alpha continued to scent the car—he was stuck between jealousy and amusement. He only finally decided on the latter when Sam came up to him, rolled his eyes, and muttered something about Dean being “obsessively married” to the car.

Now, after hearing the tales of the 1967 Chevrolet Impala, Castiel caresses the leather dashboard, too. He is reverent to the car, when he never would have thought he’d ever be to any inanimate object—but he is still a little dubious of the fact that Dean still has a tape player and _no seatbelts._

“I wanna take Adam and Kate out this month,” Dean says conversationally, both hands on the steering wheel and driving slowly but surely and smoothly on the salted roads of Seraph towards Gabe’s apartment. “I’m not—they still do Christmas shopping,” he continues, licking his lips as he sends a quick glance Castiel’s way.

Castiel shrugs. “I’m sure Jo will enjoy having me for a whole day.”

“Not for the whole day,” Dean answers, snorting at the implication of Dean’s words—he knows how Jo ‘enjoys’ people’s company—“I can’t stay away from you that long. Just… for one whole afternoon?”

“As I said, I’m sure Jo will enjoy having me.”

“Thanks, Cas.”

Castiel smiles, leaning over the console to give Dean a quick peck on the cheek—laughing and pushing the Alpha’s face away when he tries to chase Castiel’s lips. “Eyes on the road, Dean. I’d love to survive long enough to actually _see_ Gabe today.”

Dean rolls his eyes but acquiesces—and they spend the rest of the drive in comfortable silence, Castiel only reaching out to twine his and Dean’s hands together on top of the gearshift. It isn’t that Castiel is not okay with Dean being away from him—he’s somehow sure they’d tire of each other’s constant scents one day and would want their own space for a little while—he understands the wish to take Adam somewhere far, far away from Seraph and avoid him getting mixed up in their world but…

He’s scared.

He hates being afraid—all his life he’s trained himself not to be afraid but now—

Everything seems to be catching up to him now.

 

**..--..**

 

When Gabriel wakes up, his first instinct is to reach over to the nightstand and dial his younger brother’s phone number. He stops midway there—the cold December air blasting at his bare chest freezing him as his comforter falls from where it’s cocooned him to pool at his waist. Castiel doesn’t live on his own anymore.

He feels a quick jazz of joy, suddenly replaced by one of apprehension. The first of December has always been ‘their day’—the first day exactly nine years ago that Castiel had changed from Castiel Allen Shurley to Castiel Nazareth Novak.

He falls down back to the bed, covers himself with the warm blankets, but he feels cold. It’s not a cold that can be chased away by blankets and fire—it’s the kind of cold that can only be soothed by sweet laughter and mugs of coffee shared in front of the fireplace, snuggled under warm blankets with feet on his lap and a tuft of dark hair annoyingly rubbing against his chin—

In short, it’s the cold inside of him that only _Castiel_ has ever gotten to around warming up.

Not even _Kali_ can warm him up the way Castiel did on the first of December.

Even though the Alpha hasn’t really done anything—he can’t help the slither of resentment that zings through him at the thought of Dean Winchester. Rationally, Castiel isn’t his to lose, to be stolen from—but now, lying on his bed with his phone silent on his bedside and not stuck on his ear inviting himself over to his younger brother’s apartment—he cannot help but feel as if Dean had _taken_ Castiel away from him.

Gabriel wonders idly if Castiel would still come around, if they’ll still have the tradition _after_ the officiating ceremony for his and Dean’s mating.

He shakes himself, gets off of the bed and clothes himself in warm fabric, deciding that sulking around and moping won’t do anyone good—if anything, it would just annoy his younger brother and _then_ Castiel will never come again.

The thought makes him what to crumple on the ground and die.

 

An hour later finds him sitting in front of the mantelpiece, on the couch that had been Castiel’s comfort place during the months that he didn’t want to ‘offend’ Gabriel into holding him to sleep, under Castiel’s childhood blanket, drinking hot cocoa from Castiel’s favorite mug—

He looks ridiculous, he knows, obsessing himself over a little brother who isn’t little anymore and has never actually _been_ his blood brother, ever—but Castiel had been his second chance, and he’d like to think he did quite a good job of it. He _is_ , after all, now a very affluent Alpha’s chosen mate.

The image of fiery red hair, green eyes and scruffy gold hair and brown eyes, exactly like his, comes into his mind he chokes on the hot cocoa in his throat—but he doesn’t even feel the burn. He feels a different kind of burn, in his eyes, and he bites his lips.

 _Hayden_.

He clears his throat and shakes his head.

Castiel is probably not coming. Or, if he is, he’ll probably come at a more reasonable time than eight o’clock in the morning—which Gabriel is thankful for, because he needs _time_ for what he is about to do.

He’s only ever done this with Castiel in the next room or right beside him, because he feels like his whole body is being ripped apart the moment he opens the box and brings out all the little trinkets inside of it.

“Yeah, okay,” he says, anxiously wiping his hand on his pants before producing a pack of Twix from his pocket—not melted, hooray for winter—and biting into the chocolate-y, gooey goodness before standing up. “Yeah, okay,” he repeats, the sound garbled in his own ears before he walks back to the bedroom and brings out that little box.

He clears his throat.

“Hey, Mary,” he says, wiping the dust gathered from a year on top of the cabinet off the surface of the bamboo. “Happy anniversary.”

 

Gabriel is _absolutely_ wrecked when the doorbell rings.

“Shit,” he says—because what the fuck would he do if it’s Kali? Act smooth and not like there were tear blotches on his cheeks? _Smooth, Gabe,_ a voice in his head—sounds suspiciously like Andrew—teases, and Gabriel runs to the bathroom to wash his face and try to take off at least a _little_ of the evidence of him crying like a baby before running down to the front door.

He opens it—only to be buried in the scratchy fabric that Castiel likes to wear during Christmas. He wraps his arms around his—admittedly taller—younger brother and buries his face into the Omega’s neck, scenting him and rejoicing in the unclaimed scent that jumps at his heart before pushing the kid away and pulling a smirk into his face.

“’Sup?” he says—because, regardless of anyone’s opinions, Gabriel Novak _is_ smooth.

Castiel rolls his eyes. “It’s the first of December,” he announces. “I want my chocolate and candies and I want my blanket.”

Gabriel eyes the Alpha slightly behind Castiel, gives him the best I’ve – lived – with – this – shit – for – years face, and then jerks his head to gesture them inside. “Yeah, I know, kid. Blanket’s in the family room—Dean! You gotta learn the family recipe.”

_Of course Castiel will bring Dean—they’re mated! What else do I expect?_

“So,” he begins, turning to Dean the moment they step into the kitchen—three rooms away from where Castiel is—“when do I get to have little niblings?”

Dean rolls his eyes. “ _Not_ too soon,” he mutters, and then blushes at the knowing look Gabriel sends his way.

Yeah, alright—they haven’t had sex.

Gabriel is good with that.

He is very, very good with that.

 

Spending the whole day with his little brother _and_ a colleague he’s somehow never been assigned to as a partner isn’t as awkward as he feared it would be. It was actually… fun. It doesn’t matter to _any_ of them that they’re all—obviously—not expecting anything to happen like they normally do outside, but it’s still _something_ only they could get to have.

He can’t embarrass his little brother with embarrassing childhood stories—so what? Dean seemed to be content to watch how they interact.

(That, if Gabriel is going to be honest and not going to act like his normal shit-eating self, is what totally won him over. Okay, Dean is attractive—as _fuck_ , he’s actually surprised little Casi hasn’t jumped his bones yet—and strong, and fun, but it’s his obvious _devotion_ to Castiel and the idea of ‘family’ that had Gabriel smiling like an idiot high on dope.)

“ _I like your Alpha,”_ he’d hissed into Castiel’s ear while they were both in the kitchen preparing eggnog, chucking his brother’s chin in the process of talking. “He’s good.”

His little brother blushed—he rarely did, and never for an Alpha—and looked at the direction of the family room before shaking his head and smiling gently. The look was good on his face—it made him feel… feel as young as Gabriel somehow always forgot he was. “I like him, too.”

And that didn’t make anything awkward, either. If anything, it caused Gabriel to be more _open_ to Dean—and by open he means _fucking annoying_.

He grins at Dean now—drunk, slurring Dean Winchester—as he resolutely ignores the killer glares his little brother is sending at him. Who cares that he’s almost forty? He’ll have fun wherever he gets it.

(That doesn’t mean that he doesn’t get in trouble with Kali when she finds out, of course, but… you know.)

Castiel is currently suffering from a _very_ grope-y Dean Winchester, and Gabriel can see the obvious slow decline of resistance.

“Time for the tradition,” Gabriel announces out of nowhere—because seeing his little brother like _that_ is something he’d like _not_ to see anywhere in the near future, even if it’s good blackmail material for the long term. “Come on, Casi. Chop chop!”

He cackles as he storms away from the room—laughing at his brother’s angry words about traitors and idiots and annoying older brothers—but it’s all in good fun. The alcohol will probably—hopefully—put Dean to sleep in the next few hours.

Castiel joins him in his bedroom a few minutes later, looking bedraggled and—

“You made out,” Gabriel says giddily, pointing at his little brother’s rumpled clothes. “Oh my god, Casi, you made out on my _couch_.”

“And that is completely your fault,” Castiel growls right back, his ire disappearing completely when he sees the box on Gabriel’s lap. “You’ve opened it,” he says, his voice low and soft and—and concerned.

Gabriel smiles, albeit thinly. “Didn’t think you’d be coming,” he admits, tapping the top of the box almost affectionately. He looks up when his little brother sits beside him, the Omega’s eyes wide and bright—like the first time. This day reminds Gabriel too much of that first time,

“I’m sorry,” he breathes, and blinks. “I should have called—I should have told you that I was coming and I—oh shit, I brought Dean over without even—”

“Castiel,” Gabriel says—more like sighs—before he puts his hand on his brother’s shoulder. “It’s okay. Kinda glad you brought him over, actually—at least I got to know him outside of what I hear about him at work.” The side of his mouth quirks up in a smirk. “What’s he doing now, anyway?”

Castiel shrugs, almost but no dislodging Gabriel’s hand. “He conked out when I pulled back. I think you put too much alcohol in his chocolate.”

“The best way to get rid of him for a few hours,” Gabriel says—and then he sobers up. He looks down at the box on his lap.

He’s thought of it, of course—that maybe this isn’t the best way to welcome the season, but what is? Christmas shopping? Singing carols? Sending a prayer to a god that probably doesn’t even exist anymore? He lives a life where _nothing_ is normal—nothing past the age of eleven, that is.

Everything he knew was ripped apart when he was seven years old, even though at that time he didn’t even _know_ everything he had ever known was about to change and that his whole life was now officially though not literally over, and he doesn’t even know if he blamed the people who were responsible for it. He… he _loved_ her, as much as his—as much as she—they—did. She was…

“Gabe?” Castiel whispers, taking him away from then, away from all that, but he’s about to dive right back in anyway.

He blinks, his eyes trained on his little brother, and he swallows a lump past his throat.

 _Now’s the time,_ a voice that sounds suspiciously like hers says, but he shakes it off. No, not now—now is not a good time. Soon.

He forces a smile into his face and brings out a picture from his pocket—it’s the one picture he’s never shown Castiel. It’s the picture the day Omega Dad came from the hospital, holding little Hayden in his blue bundle of blankets and towels.

He was six back then—and he remembers that he wanted to name his baby brother Gabriel Number Two—but both of his dads said no and told him to ‘relax, honey’.

“That’s Hayden,” he whispers to Castiel, pointing at the wrinkly baby in the blue bundle, and then moves his finger to the other one in Alpha Dad’s—a pink bundle this time, with her hand raised in a fist towards the man’s nose. “And that—” his breath catches “—that’s little Mary. She was supposed to be called Hailey, but A-Anna was so in _love_ with this Omega teaching in our school back then that she wanted to name our baby sister Mary.”

“And you all went along with it,” Castiel finishes, his voice gentle and loving and all that Omega shit that made it unfair to be emotionally unstable around an Omega. They made you _happy_. “Why? Hayden and Mary are two _very_ different names.”

Gabriel snickers. “I turned seven, a month or two after Mary gave birth—and it was such a big deal. I don’t know why—” _liar_ , someone hisses in his ear “—but we didn’t see her for six months, and that’s when I realized that we all loved her. _Very much_ , like she was already part of our family.” He points at the redhead clinging to his side on the picture. “That’s Anna.”

Castiel smiles, and doesn’t say anything.

Every year, they do this—and every year, even back when Castiel was fourteen and was a snotty little traumatized teen, neither of them mentions what Gabriel really _is_ doing when he does this: brings out pictures, tells Castiel about them, cry over them… put them into albums and then put them into bigger boxes that they never open again.

But it’s not really reminiscing the scenes that makes Gabriel’s heart ache—it’s how he’s naming each person and framing them into these small phrases that carry on only to one person all these years, and how it’s really the only way he can think of even simply _stomaching_ memorializing his family.

“They deserve something better,” he whispers, and he can’t help a tear from falling from his eye. “They deserve some _one_ better and—god, Castiel, I don’t know what to do anymore.”

“Live,” Castiel whispers—and then Gabriel is being enveloped in a pair of arms that he knows he’ll forever love. It doesn’t matter that he’s not blood, that he isn’t Hayden or Anna or Mary or Alpha Dad or Omega Dad or that he’ll never be—this is _Gabriel’s_ family, one he’s made himself, and that’s good enough. That’s—that is _more_ than enough, for him, for forever.

“Live,” Castiel repeats, his voice stronger and firmer this time, “like you have all these years past. Live for me, live for your self—live for your memory.”

He holds onto Castiel for a little longer before pulling away, idiosyncratic shit-eating grin in place. “You’re such a sap,” he mutters to his brother, before taking the one photo for this year and bringing it to the album he’s chosen.

“Come on—get your Alpha home. I think he’d prefer to be there when the hangover sets.”

“You’re such a dick,” Castiel mutters, and then smiles, but his smile drops so suddenly that, even with Gabriel knowing just how much of an emotional person his little brother is, he worries. He stares at him for a moment, and when he’s about to open his mouth to ask just _what_ is wrong, Castiel interrupts him, and he feels like the floor is dropping from where he stands.

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay. Aside from exciting, this chapter was exhausting, too. It's kind of getting suffocating having to write people--people you care about in a way--in a situation such as the one Dean, Cas, Gabe, Sam, Adam and the others are in right now.
> 
> But... anyway. If you haven't read the link above, [ here it is again](http://theorynpractice.tumblr.com/post/92228445296/just-a-note-on-my-gabriel), just in case you want to know why Gabriel acted like that in this chapter.
> 
> Thank you for stopping by :D


	3. Chapter 3

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Nothing in your life is fair, Dean, someone says—a voice that sounds eerily close to John Winchester. Life takes away from you what it wants. You can’t choose what stays and what fades.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com)
> 
> **EDIT [01/03/2017]**
> 
> Wow, this story has been running for almost three years. please forgive me for how much i've neglected this story, and any kind of support is still welcome (criticism, a kudos, a small comment, anything)

Dean feels like he’s in a strange haze where he sits, head resting on the backrest of the sofa that is just _so_ comfortable and just smells like his mate and—

He takes a deep breath, smiling contentedly as the scent that’s been saturated into the upholstery whiffs up to his nose, cocooning him in warmth and light and _mate_ and fuzziness. He doesn’t even like feeling angry that Gabriel may have added something other than alcohol in one of his drinks. Hell, he’d be thankful for it, even.

He’s wanted to get drunk or high or _something_ for so long that this little respite—it doesn’t matter that he’s meeting his mate’s family, _not right now_ —is precious and perfect and he wants to keep it to himself. Cas isn’t anywhere to be found—be he remembers, faintly, Gabriel saying (obnoxiously loudly, mind you) that there was a tradition they must uphold, and you know.

He snuggles down lower into his back, and if she had been here he knows Kate would cuff him over the head for sitting on his spine instead of his butt, but he just feels far too comfortable to care. He isn’t even fazed by the scent of tears, or grief, or anxiety that wafts over to him—he just closes his eyes and his senses to it and keeps himself calm.

There’s no point in making a scene where in a house where, apparently, _grief_ is a tradition. Instead, he lets out a deep breath, a smile of contentment still on his face, and allows himself to drift.

 

It feels like seconds later when someone is shaking him awake. He snaps up into attention and tackles the person to the ground—hooking his leg around their knee and pulling in, using the momentum to lunge forward and wrap his arms around their neck, sliding around them as they fall to the carpeted floor with a thud, Dean on top, his elbow digging into—

“Oh, fuck!” he snarls, pulling back as quickly as he can and flipping Cas onto his back, who is now hacking coughs and taking deep gulps of air after his windpipe is freed. “Cas—fuck, babe, I’m so _sorry_ —” Dean is waved away when he tries to move forward, and Cas, after finally calming enough to speak, grins.

“Nice reflexes, Winchester,” he says. He coughs one more time, before he takes a wheezing breath and pressing a kiss to Dean’s forehead. “I’m _okay_ ,” he breathes, right into Dean’s skin—Dean can scent the saturation of tears and grief and anxiety in his, but he doesn’t say anything—before pulling back and giving Dean a peck against his lips. “I’m fine Dean. Come on—get up, we have to head home. Gabe wants his apartment to himself. He’s invited his chosen.”

Dean is still worried, though, looking at Cas worriedly—at the red spot on his throat that shows where he’s just dug his elbow in, intending to fucking _crush_ it. He looks at his mate, takes in the red rimmed, too bright eyes, the scent of tears and emotions, and nods, pretending to take it at face value by smiling faintly. “Yeah, let’s go.”

He stands, offers his hand to Cas who takes it with a grateful smile. And then Gabe is there, walking them out of the house, giving Dean lewd jokes and ribbing his younger brother before sending them off.

Dean has managed to forget the whole thing so far—but it comes crashing back into him when they’re in the car. He rolls the windows down, allowing the bitter winter air to wisp around them and refresh their senses.

If he were to be honest, it’s just to make sure he doesn’t saturate the air with _his_ scent, because that will just annoy Cas, and an annoyed Cas is hard to get along with. But he still _is_ worried—because what if that will always be how he is? What if he’ll never forget John and Seraph’s mixed training and attack anyone who wakes him up the wrong way? What if it’s Cas, again—or worse, what if it’s his _kid_?

“I can hear you thinking.”

Dean jumps, his mind snapping back to the present like a literal latex glove, and he glances at Cas, who is looking at him with soft eyes.

“I’m okay, Dean. I swear. I knew the risk when I tried to wake you up,” he continues to reassure, reaching over the console with an open hand, palm up. Dean lets one of his hands drop from the steering wheel to wrap around his.

“I can’t help but be worried,” he murmurs, eyes trained on the road, because this is awkward. He doesn’t know _why_ it’s awkward, but it is—for some reason. All his life he’s never had anyone to actually _talk_ about these things to. His worries over Sam when he was growing up: _am I giving him enough vegetables? Is it a bad idea to leave him alone for long periods of time so I can get some food? Can I let him drink a bit of soda, just every now and then, or should I stick strictly to milk and water?_ And then Adam, when he came into their life: _will Adam be okay? The kid’s grown up, but he knows nada about self defense. God, am I a bad brother for staying here and not going out there to look out for him? Shit! I’m horrible!_

He had no one, all because there simply _wasn’t_ anyone out there to ever look after him. They had John, but he was obsessed with something else to ever worry about Dean enough—as long as he blabbered and made no sense, he was fine and no one cared. He had Kate, but she _wasn’t_ Mom, and it was difficult to open up to her at first, but he did anyway—when it was already too late and he was old enough to take care of himself. He had Sam, but the kid was just too sympathetic and understanding that he doesn’t get that sometimes, you need to feel bad about yourself to find a reason to _feel good_ about anything else, too.

He lets go of Cas’s hand for a moment to scrub it down his face before grabbing onto it again, letting the calloused skin of his mate’s smaller, more feminine hand to anchor him to the present, to what’s happening _right now_. “You know—what if. What if, in the future, it’s our kid—and I wind up tackling him to the ground and crushing his— _god_ , Cas.”

“Shh,” Cas croons, raising their joined hands and pressing a long, warm kiss to the back of his hand. “That’s not going to happen, Dean. You were in an unfamiliar environment while inebriated in a drink mixed by my brother. I woke you up in a fashion of physical sense, even when training has ingrained it within me not to do that. You didn’t hurt me on purpose.”

“Instincts, Cas,” Dean growls, squeezing Cas’s hand for a moment before he drags it to the console and shifting gears, flicking his signal about twenty yards away from the turn to the Host’s residences. “ _Instinct_ told me to kill you—”

“As much as it dictated for me not to touch you.”

“ _Why won’t any of you just admit I’m a monster?”_ he yells, frustrated and angry and scared, slamming the breaks harshly as he turns into the parking lot, nodding tersely at the Jeremy the guard, before going to his apartment bay, beside Cas’s car.

Cas doesn’t answer, just stares at the smooth wall in front of them stonily, and Dean sighs. He’s even dropped their _hands_ —fuck. He runs his hands through his hair, wanting to scream or _punch something_ so badly that he had to grit his teeth to stop.

“I’m sorry,” he breaths, the words exploding from between his teeth as he squeezes his eyes harshly, doing that thing again where he pretends he’s a child and that when he doesn’t see the world, it doesn’t see him. “Cas—”

“You’re not a monster,” Cas interrupts, and that’s all Dean hears before the creak shifting leather and the opening of the car door. “If you were,” he hears, spoken softly, “then we all are.” And then the door is slammed shut.

He waits for a few more minutes before he punches the steering wheel, yelling a curse so loud that he cringes when the echoes start from where he is. He sighs, dropping his head forward and to the steering wheel—and banging it forcibly against the hard plastic several times, until he feels his head throbbing from the pain and the alcohol from earlier.

 _God_ , he feels so horrible. He just had to do that, huh? All this time with Cas, and now he’s back to square one. Cas had laid out ground rules for them when he moved in: the first of which was ‘ _not speak of yourself in such derogatory way’_.

Even then, it took a while, with a lot of affection and tip toeing and walking on eggshells before Cas had been that open again. Sighing, he fixes up his car and locks it up before walking to the lift, kneading his forehead in a vain attempt to fight the headache that is beginning to pound away.

He sighs, getting in and pressing the button for his floor and leaning his head against the cool metal. He scowls at the loud ping before walking out, smiling softly when he sees Cas in front of the door, back against the wood. He walks over, stands in front of his mate.

Cas falls right into his chest, arms immediately snaking around his waist, and Dean lets out a breath he had not known he was holding. He was just too fucking relieved—god, he was so scared Cas was going to push him away again.

He wraps his own arms around Cas’s body, pulling him forward and kissing the top of his head.

“I’m sorry,” they say at the same time, and it’s not the explosive apology of earlier, but easier, lighter, more heart-felt and more loving.

Cas looks up and kisses him, soft and sweet. “Let’s get inside, Alpha.”

Dean snorts as he kisses Cas on the forehead, but he doesn’t let the Omega get anywhere too far away. He tucks him in against his side, reaching into his pocket and opening the door before leading them both inside the apartment.

It’s warm and smells of warm chocolate and oatmeal cookies and he laughs at what he walks in on: Sam and his ‘friend’ ( _yeah, right, Sam,_ his eyes say when they meet his younger brother’s) Jess, together on the loveseat facing each other and their legs tangled together under Sam’s security quilt blanket that Dean had given the kid when he was nine freaking years old; Ellen, Bobby and Rufus on the couch with mugs of coffee on their laps, facing _away_ from the television; Jo, Ash, Benny, his mate Andrea and their baby, a beautiful girl they named Trala, on the sofa doting on the baby ( _she’s gon’ be a spoiled babe,_ Benny used to always say); Pamela, her mate, Jesse, her secretary (who’d inadvertently become closer to all of them) Alfie, and (sur – fucking –prise, Winchester) Adam sprawled out together on the warm, thick, comfortable carpet on the floor.

Kate waves at them from the kitchen, and Dean grins at her.

He lets Cas go and he goes—of _course_ , who won’t—straight for Trala, who coos up at him and raises her arms to be carried. Everyone laughs as she starts readily munching on his hair as soon as she’s in reach.

Dean, seeing as his youngest brother is far too starry eyed staring at the Omega on the floor with him, decides to jump into the puppy pile—yup, all hulking Alpha size of him. All Adam and Alfie get is a surprised yelped from Pam, who rolls straight into her mate’s chest— _good reflexes, girl,_ he wants to say—before he’s landing on top of the two decidedly smaller kids.

“Oomf,” he hears, a breath expelled right at his ear—

“DEAN!”

Ah, there it is. Sam and Adam both yell his name while everyone else start cackling rather loudly, but Dean doesn’t care—he burrows himself deeper into Adam’s space, his body sinking between his brother and the Omega he’s ogling at, both of them still under his arms. He pulls Alfie closer—because he can—and raises his head enough to grin at Adam.

It’s only then that he hears the hacking breaths that the Omega is taking beside him, and he looks at him and—well, starts laughing. So bad. So hard that he falls straight into his brother who says ‘oomf’, too, before trying to get Dean off of his torso.

He sees Kate, but she’s smiling—so this is okay.

Alfie is red faced as he curls up in a fetal manner, trying to hide himself against the fabric on Dean’s thigh. Dean pats him on the head. “Hey,” he says, softer this time. “Sorry, kid. I’m sorry—raise your head for me?”

Alfie does—albeit slowly and cautiously, and Dean smiles at him, the brightest and most charming smile he can afford.

Alfie smiles back—and everyone goes back to what they were previously doing. _This_ , though, right here? Is one of the things he likes about Seraph. There’s no stigma to an Omega finding comfort and solace in an Alpha’s presence. People here are far more… _open_ to the type of relationships any Alpha and Omega can strike up—and the latter doesn’t always have to be the Alpha’s ‘little bitch’.

He’d been on missions outside, before. And what had happened to Cas— _almost,_ his Alpha growls—proves just how bigoted people still are when it comes to the gender hierarchy.

 

He doesn’t know how it happens, but they spend the rest of the day that way: watching movies, having impromptu wrestling matches, eating Kate’s cupcakes and cookies and Ellen’s perfect burgers. The first to leave are Benny and Andrea—leaving right in the middle of Lion King when Trala conks out on all of them. And then Pamela and Jesse leaves, too, dragging Alfie with them (Dean did not miss the look he exchanges with Adam at the door—now _that_ is something to be questioned) and then Ellen and Bobby and Jo and Sam until it’s just Kate, Adam, Cas and Dean alone in the apartment.

“I’m _beat_ ,” Dean whines, reaching up with his arms to stretch his back, smiling at the pleasure of hearing his joints crack back into place. “I just want to fall into bed and sleep until Christmas.”

He jumps when someone cuffs him over the head—grinning when he sees it’s Kate who rolls her eyes. “Adam, Cas and I did all the cooking and hosting all day. You’re on cleaning duty,” she says, flopping down onto the couch beside Cas, who has his head against the backrest and his eyes closed.

Dean groans, pouting and looking up at Kate imploringly. Only, the problem with mothers is—they’ve somehow perfected the I – am – your – mother – don’t – try – me look, which Dean is _terrified_ of. Don’t tell Kate. He sighs in exaggerated defeat before standing up, dragging his socked feet across the wood to the kitchen.

He stops, though, frowning at the look on Cas’s face—he was wrong, his mate didn’t look like he was relaxing. He bends forward and presses a quick kiss on Cas’s forehead, worried that this was a remnant of their earlier argument—but Cas smiles when he opens his eyes and reaches farther back to kiss his chin.  “You okay?” he whispers, only now noticing, with a jolt, the evidence of tears in his eyes. “Babe, if this is about earlier—”

“It’s not,” Cas promises, smiling faintly before reaching up to wipe under his eyes. “I’m sorry—it’s just… this is the first time in a long while I’ve—we’ve—had this, and it’s… it’s making me cry, that’s all.”

Dean watches a little, swallowing nervously because when Cas lies he has tells—funny and quirky ones, yeah, but they’re tells—and he’s showing them now, as he talks, as he denies Dean’s claim, but again, he takes it at face value and presses a longer, lingering kiss onto his mate’s mouth. “Get to bed, then,” he says softly, “you look tired. I’ll go clean up and then I’m following you in.”

Cas frowns. “Need help?”

“Nah, go on. Go rest. Kate,” he adds, a little louder now and sending a significant look towards his stepmom, “wants me on cleaning duty.”

Cas chuckles but stands anyway, and Dean straightens up before turning on his heel and entering the kitchen. He’s nervous, he’s scared—and he’s anxious, because what could Cas be crying about? Gabe? Something Gabriel said—or him. He screwed it up again, didn’t he?

He barely stops himself from groaning loudly as he starts cleaning up the sink, seeing that there really wasn’t much to be cleaned up—Kate was an immaculate worker. _Still_ , his thoughts keep straying towards what Cas could have been crying about, and if they can fix it if there was anything broken, again.

It takes Dean about twenty minutes to clean up—and he calls a quick ‘goodnight’ towards the living room before stalking upstairs and entering his and Cas’s bedroom. It scents wonderful, perfect—like home and safety and mate and family—and he almost lets out a pitiful whine at the thought of causing grief on Cas. Instead he goes to the en suite bathroom, cleans up, changes his clothes and carefully approaches the bed.

Cas is already asleep—comforter up to his chin, curled up slightly facing away from Dean’s side of the bed. He’s lying near the middle—right where Dean would usually lay to cuddle up to him, and it’s almost enough to knock the air from his lungs because Cas isn’t withholding him from his tendencies to be an octopus, and Dean smiles.

He moves over to his side of the bed, kisses Cas’s neck for a moment before sidling up to his back and pulling him closer. Cas shifts in his sleep, tilting his head up a little so it’s tucked under the Dean’s chin, and the Alpha chuckles. He closes his eyes, feels exhaustion and sleep claim him—and he allows himself to fall.

 

When he opens his eyes again, he’s not really that surprised that it’s not even sunrise yet—his body is used to waking up at four thirty in the morning. When he looks to the right and checks his clock, though, he’s surprised to see it isn’t even one in the morning yet—not even three hours since he’s gone to bed, but then he hears a sound, and he figures out just what woke him up.

It’s Cas. Dean has somehow rolled away from his position and he’s on his back, his arm barely grazing Cas’s head which is thrashing around as Cas shakes—Dean can see a sheen of sweat on his forehead in the faint light of the moon from the window, illuminated further by the white sheet of snow that had fallen yesterday afternoon.

Dean moves according to instinct now—sitting up and pulling Cas with him, to him, tucking him against his chest before shaking him, trying to rouse him from sleep. He remembers, suddenly, nights in dingy motel rooms and waking a screaming, squirming three year old Sam from nightmares that a toddler shouldn’t be having; trying to dissuade his baby brother from drawing images that a kid who’s only learning how to _talk_ and _walk_ shouldn’t be putting into reality. He remembers being afraid whenever John Winchester is roused before he can get Sam to stop sobbing and screaming out words that he doesn’t understand because they weren’t _words_ ; cowering away from a hand raised towards him in the darkness because he can’t comfort his baby brother enough for him to sleep through the night in silence—

Cas wakes up with a gasp, and then he’s out of Dean’s grasp and there’s a gun pointed right at his head. It’s shaking, and he carefully moves it aside and grabs it when Cas drops the thing. He allows himself to fall back when Cas throws himself forward and rams straight into Dean’s chest; lets himself listen to broken sobs and garbled words; holds Cas through his little episode.

 _Little_ , that insidious voice in his head sneers, and he forces it down. Yes, it’s a little episode—how Cas is when he wakes up in the middle of the night is worth how he will be when he wakes up in the morning, because _that_ is the Cas he wants. This—this is part of who Cas is, and that’s okay.

Cas finally falls back into sleep after half an hour, and soon he’s breathing deep and wonderfully on Dean’s chest. Dean moves them both slowly, and he wiggles under the covers with Cas still on top of him. And then he wraps his arms around Cas, smiling gently when Cas burrows his face deeper into his chest and takes a deep breath. Yeah—this is okay, they’ll be okay.

That voice isn’t real.

Cas is okay.

Cas is okay—he isn’t just this scared, sobbing person Dean has on top of his chest, who wakes up screaming and sobbing in the middle of the night, every night since he moved in, just like Sammy, with Dean not knowing what to do because Cas hasn’t said anything; no, Cas isn’t someone who lies to Dean—

He huffs out a breath in frustration, and tries to shut his brain up. He thinks of this afternoon, of the bonding they’ve had—and that is enough for him to fall back into an uneasy sleep, his dreams filled with shadows and people he doesn’t know, forces he can’t see—and the fearful feeling of being helpless as he loses everything he’s ever held dear.

He’s just gotten Adam back—it’s unfair to take it all away from him again.

 _Nothing in your life is fair, Dean,_ someone says—a voice that sounds eerily close to John Winchester. _Life takes away from you what it wants. You can’t choose what stays and what fades._

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am (most probably) not going to be able to update this much in the coming couple of weeks, so I'm putting this up because I'll be moving on Monday.
> 
> Ajshkdjaskehkde. (Wish me luck for college.)
> 
> (And oh yea, if you've seen some of my other works? I'm sorry for those. Huehuehue.)
> 
>  **Update 4/10:** I am trying to reply to all the comments that didn't get inboxed. I'm sorry for not being able to reply, but I'm doing my best now!!! Once more, thanks to all of you who are still sticking to this. I hope it doesn't disappoint you... too much. Stay safe, stay well :)
> 
>  **EDIT [2017]** i posted this chapter before i moved for college, wow. i just finished my first semester of junior year. jeeze, this story literally grew with me. thank you for sticking with me, and i hope you'll still be here until it's finished!!!
> 
> ~~pls leave me a comment even if it's just a letter typed 100x i'd still love it pls it's not weird i won't find u creepy pls do it just do IT~~


	4. Chapter 4

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Tears run down his cheeks, unbidden, and Dean’s eyes widen in panic.
> 
> Oh—yeah.
> 
> Dean hasn’t seen Sam cry in years.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back, and to celebrate my last day of vacation, I am putting this chapter up.
> 
> Cas's sexy times in the next chapter so. :3
> 
>  
> 
> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com)

Sam straightens up—but he simply doubles over again, now thankful that he didn’t think to get out of the comfort room as he empties what was once his breakfast into the porcelain tank in front of him. He keeps his eyes closed as he blindly reaches for the flush—pulling it down with more force than necessary before he pulls away and hugs his knees to his chest.

God—it feels awful. It feels too fucking awful.

He stands up slowly, infinitely thankful that he doesn’t end up bonking his head against the bathtub as he washes his mouth as thoroughly as he could at the sink. He manages to catch his own eyes in the mirror—and he gulps nervously. It hadn’t been this bad yesterday, or the other day—but now he looks gaunt and haunted, like a ghost.

 _Or a zombie,_ that Dean voice in his head suggests, and he gives out a sigh.

He walks out of the bathroom and enters his own—reaching for the phone and immediately ringing Ellen.

“Can’t come in today,” he says immediately, falling face-first against the bed when Ellen picks up.

“You alright, boy?” he hears Ellen ask, and he thinks he grunts—or gives a verbal answer, but the next thing he knows Ellen is telling him to rest up and give his brother a call.

 _Yeah, and suffer from his mother hen-ing,_ he thinks grimly, scowling at the image of Dean that one time he got sick as a kid. But then he breathes out, agrees, and hangs up. He’s missed Dean—mother hen and all, and really. All he wants is to be taken care of today.

(He can say he got caught in the snow, that’s why he’s this sick. Unless he brings Cas, which doesn’t give him a loophole anymore, but never mind that.)

So he grabs his phone again, calling his older brother and sighing against his pillow.

“Sammy?”

He growls at the nickname. “It’s Sam,” he corrects, aiming for commanding but coming out pitiful, and he sighs. “Can you come over? Please?”

“Yeah—hey, is something wrong?” Dean asks, and Sam gives a reluctant smile at the obvious concern coloring his voice. He has missed that, whatever he says.

“Yeah, no. Just got caught in the snow.” He sniffles for effect. “Please, come over?”

“Sure—want me to bring Kate with?”

 _He didn’t ask for Cas,_ he notes absently, and he shakes his head—before realizing he’s on the phone and his brother can’t see him. “No, just you. Bring some… some tomato soup or something.”

“Okay—”

“Tell Adam to get me some Instalthread, please.”

There’s silence. Sam feels a little anxious—does Dean know what Instalthread is? Did— _Did Cas tell him what Instalthread is?_

“Insta—what? Yeah, sure. Whatever. I’ll be there in an hour.”

He sighs in relief, feeling his whole body seem to give out as the tension seeps away. “Thanks, Dean.”

“Yeah. Keep warm—get under the blankets.”

Even in his weakened state, Sam still rolls his eyes. _He starts at the phone. Great job, Dean._ “Yes, Dean.”

“Alright.”

Dean hangs up, and he sends Jess a quick text—wishing she could come over but knowing she can’t, not without a shot of Instalthread in him. He ran out yesterday—maybe that’s why it’s affecting him so bad right now. _God_ , he feels so awful—and he reluctantly but resolutely raises his wrist, his eyes shut tight for a moment before ripping them open.

Yeah—right there.

It’s just a wispy, silver pattern right now—the onset is quite late, and he’s surprised that Cas’s was at the right time, that rarely ever happens—and he nibbles on his lower lip. He wonders how long he has before it becomes as dark as Cas’s.

It can take weeks, months—a year.

He gulps.

No, he’ll cross that bridge when it gets here.

He pulls his sleeve down to cover his arm until his knuckles and snuggles down into his pillow, reaching over and pulling his comforter up to his shoulder in order to try and stave off an impending panic attack. No—he’ll be fine. He’s going to be fine. He and Jess just have to wait a little bit longer—yeah.

His thoughts cause him to fall into a stupor that is rudely interrupted by three loud, sharp knocks on the door. He frowns a bit, grabbing the knife he keeps under his pillow and fighting his body’s fatigued disposition as he walks to his apartment’s front door, wary of whoever is there knocking.

“Sammy!” Dean yells, and Sam almost falls in relief. “Sam—”

“I’m here,” he answers, putting his knife under a cushion on the couch before walking over to the door, unlocking it to let his older brother in. “Sorry, I guess it’s a little bad.”

“A little,” Dean repeats flatly, his face letting Sam know that nope, this isn’t something ‘little’. “C’mon, bitch, go back to bed. You sound like shit.”

“I feel worse,” he answers, sighing before locking the door behind Dean but following instructions anyway. “Did you get the—”

“Instal – what,” Dean finishes, tossing to him a familiar looking white box before walking to the kitchen. “Got that from Cas. Adam said he’ll be coming over tonight to drop off another box for tomorrow.”

“Yeah,” Sam mutters, “thanks, Dean.”

“Get your ass under a blanket, Sam.”

“Jerk.”

“Bitch.”

He goes into his bedroom again, deciding to open his window instead of the air conditioner to ventilate the room, letting out the abysmal scent of pain and misery to be replaced by the refreshing scents of winter: snow, cold, pine.

If there’s one thing he’s glad about Seraph, it’s the fact that the location is almost as if it was a tourist destination.

Which, in hindsight, is maybe not that good in the moral side of things. The location _is_ a large factor in people’s decisions to come live here; and therefore literally sign in the rest of their families into being Fledglings and fucking sacrifices for the coming years.

Sam lets out a breath to calm himself down—it is no good to get riled up over things that he cannot control anyway. Right now, he only has himself to concentrate on—and he has Dean to help him with that, which he is eternally thankful for.

He smiles and settles into the familiar, comfortable and well worn contours of his bed, pulling his comforters up and against and then around his body before turning on his side and snuggling into the pillow. The smells of the beginnings of tomato soup wafts into his room from the kitchen (it being just a hallway away, his apartment is one storey because a) he’s male and b) he wants to save up money) and lets his mind drift in gratitude and contentment.

He blinks back to full consciousness when Dean shakes him awake, in his hands a bowl of attractive tomato soup that already has his mouth watering in anticipation.

“Have you had breakfast?” Dean asks, his normally gruff, rough voice now smooth and low and gentle.

Sam shakes his head minutely; he couldn’t even properly get up to go to the bathroom to get rid of dinner, how can one expect him to be stable enough to prepare _breakfast_?

“Alright. I got you some saltine crackers and a bit of orange juice—but start with the soup first, yeah? You get a really sensitive stomach when you’re sick.”

He sits up and rests against the headboard, facing his older brother, his comforter surrounding him and looping over his head like a hood. Dean grins at him and offers the soup, but… well, he’s being mother hen today, so might as well go through _all_ the motions. Sam opens his mouth in answer.

Dean laughs—still careful as to not spill the steaming bowl of liquid in his hand, but it makes Sam feel good to see him laugh so hard and so _deep_ after so long of not seeing it happen. “We’re quirky, aren’t we?” Dean says, his eyes shining in amusement and mirth as he spoons up a bit of soup, cooling it by blowing it a little, and putting it in Sam’s mouth.

Sam almost moans in appreciation, which causes Dean to laugh lowly again.

Dean feeds Sam several more spoons to heavenly soup before he rips open a package of crackers, offering one out to Sam with a smile, and Sam remembers all those times he got sick and having Dean leave him every few hours to prepare some soup, or to buy crackers or junk food and having Dean there carrying him around like a princess when he got too sick to even _stand up_ —

Tears run down his cheeks, unbidden, and Dean’s eyes widen in panic.

Oh—yeah.

Dean hasn’t seen Sam cry in _years._

“I’m—sorry,” Sam says, and he scowls at the breathy tone his voice takes and at the shakiness of his words. “I just… I just remembered, you know,” he continues anyway, not letting Dean talk back, say ‘it’s okay’, or worse, run away. “I remember being a kid and having you pick me up and bring me to the toilet bowl just so I can gag out the things you fed me earlier. This is—”

“Pretty fucking nostalgic,” Dean finishes, his voice shaky and his eyes shining but he’s not crying, because he’s not weak like Sam. “I know, Sammy. I know. Come on, eat up—and then get a shot of that Instal – what and then go back to sleep.”

“Dean,” Sam protests, finally raising his hand—making sure it’s the left one—to push the cracker away from his face, “I’m—I don’t even know anymore. What’s going to happen to us? To you? _What’s going to happen to Adam?_ They can’t keep him here forever!”

“I don’t know,” Dean answers, sighing tiredly and putting the bowl down onto his lap to run his hand through his already – mussed hair (Sam really doesn’t need to know why he came here looking like that, pretty sure Cas has something to do with it) and then it’s suddenly painfully obvious how much Dean has been stressing over this, over the same questions, over the same temperaments and dilemma. “I don’t know, Sammy,” he repeats, “but if there’s one thing I do know? You and me—” he taps at Sam’s chest after pointing at himself “—we’re Adam’s and Kate’s family. We’re not gonna repeat the same mistakes, not again. We’ll keep a close eye on them, keep them checked up and up – to – speed about whatever the fuck’s up out here, so we can keep up with them out there, too. They’re family. We’re not leaving them, alright?”

Sam watches his brother—watches the surety, the decisiveness, the certainty, the strength… he watches as his brother builds up the foundations of his faith—and doesn’t allow himself to wonder when actually it fell in the first place, how he didn’t—hadn’t—notice it and what would happen if he _doesn’t_ in the future. Instead he smiles, and sags in relief and agreement.

Yeah, they’re family. They aren’t going to let anything happen to Adam or Kate, they’re going to be safe. Besides, Dean has Cas now, so it’s only a matter of time before there’s a new Winchester wiggling around and most probably screaming.

(He and Adam will never live down the fact that they used to scream when they were babies. No one knows about Dean, because no one dares to ask John; but everyone agrees in the assumption that he was the worst screamer in the bunch.)

 

He forces Dean out of the room once he has convinced his older brother that he’s eaten enough. He takes out the box of Instalthread (frowning at Cas’s name printed on the side) and opens the tape on the side, cringing at the ringing sound the screech of adhesive coming off causes in his ear. He opens the box and frowns again.

It’s a new set—

 _Did Cas just give away a new set_?

Not that it was illegal in any way—it was just… no one did it. No one gives away sets, because they’re expensive as fuck and it’s easy to slip it into the wrong hands for the black market (Instalthread components include morphine, which can be—and actually is—used as base for the formation of diacetylmorphine*) mostly because sets have a different packaging for its morphine ingredient.

When Dean had passed the box to him, he expected there to be a pack inside—it’s more common to lend out packs instead of giving away whole _sets._ A set, in Sam’s case, with him being on the early stages of the onset, can last up to a month—which makes him wonder why, exactly, Cas gave his own away.

Which might mean—

“Oh _god,_ ” he hisses, breaking away from his thoughts before they go into weird to totally uncomfortable territory. He picks up one of the fourteen syringes that come along with the set (a pack usually only has two; other companies sell packs with single syringes) and brings out one of each vial placed one after the other in foam holes.

He knows his own dosages and his requirements; it’s easy enough to do the math and compute the ratios he needs to make his shot.

He drinks a bit of orange juice, taking a deep breath before sticking the needle into his arm. He squeezes his eyes shut and throws his head back against the headboard before pushing on the plunger—swallowing at the feeling of having a foreign substance enter his body without anything protecting it.

He pulls out the needle before he ends up breaking the whole thing.

It’s happened to him, the first time he ever did this—it was just a good thing that he had done it with Jess around, and that she knew her way around needles. He’d been so nervous, so scared; he didn’t know what he was supposed to do or what he _wasn’t_ because he’d always had Dean to tell him exactly which vein he should push into or had Dean do it for him instead.

He broke one syringe the first time he took a shot on his own, leaving the needle stuck in his arm and, his panic, made the mistake and trying to pull it out, instead only succeeding it pushing it deeper into his flesh.

He had a bruise to show for it the next week after Jess successfully pulled the thing out.

He also lost half a liter of blood, which wasn’t surprising to him but almost made Jess panic because “you’re not supposed to bleed that much from such a small puncture!” Yeah, right.

Sam takes a deep breath in a vain attempt to stave off the immediate side-effects of taking the drug. It lasts about three minutes—and then it’s gone, and so is everything else he has felt the past few hours that was caused by the Spiral. He hears the television open in the living room and he smiles, cleaning up the set and his bed and bringing out the dishes before joining his brother in the living room.

“What’s up with Dr. Sexy now?” he asks, relishing in the jump he causes his brother and grinning. “What, surprised?”

Dean frowns at him. “You look better.”

“Yeah. I got a mother hen right here.”

“Sam—you know what? Never mind. Well, first of all, a cow died.”

Sam, startled, stares at the television screen. There’s nothing but advertisements as of now—but… “…dude, _what_?”

Dean snorts. “Well, you know how xeno – transplantation is now medically possible?”

“ _Pigs and livers!”_

“I think they expected it to be alright to transplant a sheep’s liver to a cow’s.” Dean snorts again. “The cow died.”

“Holy shit.”

“I think you mean, ‘ _holy cow’_.”

“Dean.” Sam looks at his brother, nonplussed, but rolls his eyes at his antics. “God, you dork.”

“Oh shut up, bitch.”

“ _You_ shut up, jerk.”

“Are we _really_ doing this?”

“Don’t know what you’re talking about.”

They both shut up for a moment before glancing at each other and falling into laughing fits, only shutting up when the show’s title card comes up to continue where it left off.

 

“Oh, _ew,_ ” Sam says, right in the middle of the scene where they’re opening up a man’s abdomen. “God did they—did they show themselves butchering a cow on tv?”

“Nah,” Dean answers, eyes trained on the screen. “They kept the camera on overhead, so you really can only see red and blue and moving bodies. I think showing anyone butchering any animal on telecast is considered abuse.”

“Yeah, I guess it is.”

They both watch the TV for a few more moments until—

“ _Oh god!_ ”

“ _Dean_! I do _not_ want to get rid of the soup you just fed me—thanks very much!”

 

Sam frowns, confused, when the episode ends with two men talking at the hospital waiting room, asking his brother what just happened and getting just a snort in response. Dean’s shows are complicated, Sam concludes—so much like Dean himself.

They both cook lunch together and Sam calls Adam to tell him he doesn’t need a new pack for tonight; instead inviting him and Kate over for dinner as he and Dean sit down to eat their midday meal. Adam agrees, and simply asks for directions to the apartment; and Dean starts whining about why Cas hasn’t been invited.

(Seriously. Dean can just call his mate on his own, it’s now like Sam would say anything. He actually _likes_ Cas, thank you very much.)

 

“So can I?”

Sam looks up. It’s in the early afternoon, cool winter sunlight streaming in through the windows and giving the apartment an ambient feel. Sam has been reading up on his programs, trying to debug one of the terminals because it crashed eight times in a row this week, with Dean sprawled over the couch, a Vonnegut book on his chest.

“Invite Cas over,” he finishes, meeting Sam’s eyes for a moment before flying back to the words under his nose.

Sam rolls his eyes. “Sure, Dean. I actually _do_ like Cas, you know.”

Dean grins, brings out his cell phone, and Sam looks down at his laptop screen again, frowning at the yellow arrow pointing to which line of code needs his attention. He doesn’t see anything wrong with it, though—he check the three lines before it and the three after—but there really is nothing there.

He decides to remove the whole part of the code where the suspected bug is and runs the program again.

It doesn’t.

“Fuck,” he hisses, putting the codes back and, scrolling up to the beginning of his workspace, restarts reading his codes.

His eyes water and waver at the unending parentheses and brackets and periods and variables and attributes but he keeps reading anyway—retyping the variable names just in case that’s the problem and all but pulling his hair when it still doesn’t work. There’s a whole team working this case right now, and he wonders if he’s the only one having troubles finding out just where the hell the code went wrong.

(It’s an old, old code, ancient in terms of the kind of codes they use at the office today. They’ve even lost the code book where it’s been written, how it was written and the explanations as to why; Sam’s only in this case because his specialty was in ancient coding. Seriously, that’s what it’s called.)

“You alright over there, Sasquatch?”

“ _Yes._ ”

“You don’t look okay.”

“This— _fucking code_ —is making me homicidal.”

Dean laughs and bounds over, leaning over Sam’s shoulder and reading over as well, occasionally pointing out this and that and asking for an explanation. (Or, knowing Dean, six; not that he was stupid or anything, the exact opposite actually. He wants to know how everything works and all the different ways they could go, because that’s usually how he tells how shit went wrong.)

“So if this is a decision command,” he says, pointing at the seven lines Sam has been agonizing over, “and that’s a… an output command, right?”

“Right. And this here is an input line, with—the variables here are—”

“Identified diminutives,” Dean says, nodding along. And then he frowns. “These are ancient codes. Aren’t they supposed to be drawn in a flowchart or something?”

Sam looks up at him, surprised.

Dean rolls his eyes. “I went to high school, Sammy, we did flowcharts, too.”

“Uh—yeah. Thing is, they lost the book where everything was printed.”

Dean blinks. “Well, good luck trying to fix this shit. It’s hard enough coding and recoding _with_ a guide, I have no idea how you’re gon’ fix it without one.”

Sam sighs, dejected and tired. “I fucking hate codes.”

“That ain’t the spirit.”

“ _Dean._ ”

Dean rolls his eyes and moves away, back to the couch. “Seriously. Go tell Ellen no one’s gonna be able to fix that up unless you somehow find the original coder and ask him.”

“She’s dead, actually.”

“Sell your soul to talk to her in the afterlife, duh.”

“Ugh, _so_ not worth it. I’m just going to ask for a system change.”

“Didn’t your department have a budget cut?”

“No, I’m pretty sure that’s the public relations management department.”

“Huh. Who manages that?”

“Who knows? As far as I know it was a guy called Christian Hans.”

Dean pauses, and Sam bets he’s thoughtful. “He sounds like a douchebag.”

“He probs is.”

They both snort, and silence falls in the apartment again, only disturbed by the clicking of Sam’s keyboard and the whishing of Dean turning pages on the couch.

 

**..--..**

 

Castiel watches, fascinated, as the snow falls down to the white ground in front of him. He’s at the front steps of Dean’s apartment complex’s lobby, huddled in one of Gabriel’s coats and a scarf Kate had insisted in wrapping around his neck. He is mostly ignored by the people around him who walks into and out of the building; merely sending him a glance or two before walking away again.

He’s not actually sure who of them are civilians and who are members of Seraph, but he refuses to think of it anymore.

The thoughts running around his head chase away all other possible thoughts he can think to have, no matter how hard he tries to suppress them. He squeezes his eyes and raises the volume of the pink iPod he’s taken from Dean’s bedside table—after all, Dean _had_ insisted in him becoming educated in what was real and beautiful.

He’s gotta admit, it’s more effective than the silence he usually shrouds himself in.

Ever since that morning at Gabriel’s, Castiel had been feeling a little… off. He feels like he’s fallen back into old habits he thought he has dropped: paranoia, anxiety, haplessness, and the worst, nightmares. He knows how Dean is sacrificing an hour of sleep every night just to calm him down from screaming his throat raw; he knows it’s taking a toll on his mate because he wakes up when Dean tenses and looks at him on the nights he doesn’t sit up sobbing from a nightmare.

He thought he’s left that place—he thought he has moved on, that he has made peace with the first life he has ever taken by ending it with death and not a trap or a life no one wants to lead anyway. He thought he was alright, that the comfort of finally having a real, comforting home was finally allowing him respite from the past that is beginning to torture him.

He doesn’t want to torture Dean alongside himself, but he also doesn’t want to use the man—god knows he’s been used enough in his life. But Dean…

Castiel sighs, not even really caring that it’s taken on a dreamy kind of tone, simply thinking about Dean: his arms, his smile, his eyes, his laughter, his jokes… his lips, his chest, the way his hips move when they kiss on the bed and Castiel ruts up against the Alpha…

Or the way his hands sensually move up and down Castiel’s body, his shaft… to that _one spot he most needs to be touched_ while they’re in the shower together… and he groans in frustration.

Four months.

They’ve been together for _four months_ and they haven’t done anything. It’s grating on his nerves.

(He knows Dean doesn’t want to, not when he has his step – mother and younger brother in the same apartment, but _Castiel still owns his house._ )

He sighs wistfully, thinking of him, and Dean, together in the way that he needs most… Dean, moving, in and out and—

“Oh _shit,_ ” Castiel laments, frowning—he refuses to admit he pouts—at the bulge that is forming on the front of his pants. “Damn you, Dean Winchester. Damn you and your sexual appeal and my fucking frustration. _Ugh._ ”

He looks up at the sky, stands up, and heads back to Dean’s apartment. Better take care of it before he needs to drive his mate’s mother and brother to his _other_ brother’s apartment.

 _Damn you, Dean Winchester,_ he repeats in his head, seething as he palms his cock through his pants.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I based Dr. Sexy, MD on Grey's Anatomy. The episode they were talking about is in... season 4, I think? I forgot. Hahahahahaha. Anyway.
> 
> Thanks to [ Interification ](http://archiveofourown.org/users/Inferification/pseuds/Inferification) for pointing it out (even though I don't think it was what you meant when you mentioned it, thanks anyway :3) but DIACETYLMORPHINE is the chemical formula for heroin. (Mixing health class with Organic Chem gives you all sorts of ideas, you know. Huehuehue.)


	5. Chapter 5

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He scents the contentment in the air, and, mixed with the crisp scent of winter and the exciting scents brought about by the Christmas season, he couldn’t help but wish he can make one of those snow globes they sell at convenience stores these way—snap this memory and keep it in a protective albeit fragile glass sphere, forever memorializing the love, happiness, completeness of the moment that he’d never experienced in this magnitude before.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is... porn, basically. At the beginning and at the end, with a little plot in the middle. Think of it as a little apology for being almost a month late :3
> 
> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com) | [ For Prompts ](http://ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> **EDIT [010317]:** i wrote this when i was SIXTEEN. I WROTE PORN AT 16????? Waht. even. whoa. ~~mother forgive me~~ ok i'm out

Castiel is thankful when neither Adam nor Kate meets him in the living room. He runs to his and Dean’s bedroom, grabbing an item from his bag before calling out he’ll be in the shower and jumping into the bathroom. He takes all of his clothes off, practically vibrating in anticipation as he eyes the toy he’s decided to use for the day.

He grins and gets into the shower, raising it into the perfect temperature before jumping in.

Castiel decides on using Dean’s soap—knowing just how crazy it’s going to drive the Alpha once he scents it on his skin.

(He likes playing around with Dean’s possessive side. It’s adorable, if you forget the growl – y, alpha – y side.)

He rubs against his neck at first, before moving down his chest, tweaking one nipple and then the other—biting his lip to prevent the breathy moans building at the back of his throat from pouring out—and rubbing the slippery bar against his abdomen, his hips…

He skips his crotch for now, moving on to his legs… feet… and then he puts the soap down and rubs his skin with his palm, cupping his cock with his free fist and fucking into it languidly.

Castiel scents it before he feels it.

When he does, he lets his hand slide down from his chest to his ass, reaching back and arching at the teasing touches he gives it, swirling the tip of his finger around the beading wetness.

“Oh my god, _Dean_ ,” he breathes, imagining it’s his mate pushing into him—past his rim, just there, hooking the part of his finger up and pulling.

He stifles his moan against his lip. And then, getting an idea—a good one, if he doesn’t want to be uncomfortable later—he reaches out of the shower curtain for the toy, sucking it all the way into his mouth before returning to his earlier activities, only this time slipping his finger in all the way, fucking himself open with one before slipping in the second.

His other hand stays at his cock, thumb rubbing against the shaft, fingertips pressing against the sensitive vein on the underside. He moans around the toy, swallowing the spit and gasping for breath as he slips in a third finger.

He spreads his fingers and almost falls, letting the hand off his cock to support him against the tiled wall.

Once he’s sufficiently stretched he takes the toy out of his mouth and shoves it roughly inside of him—biting his other fist when the head strikes his prostate on the first try.

He fucks the toy in and out roughly and quickly, breathing through it as best as he could until he comes—his spend rushing down the drain and he sighs, allowing the toy to settle inside himself a little longer than is usually… normal.

He hisses out a breath when he pulls it out, washing it before drying himself up and walking out of the bathroom. Only when he steps back into the bedroom that he realizes just how much his scent—aroused and satisfied—accumulated in the bathroom, and he grins as a plan formulates in his mind on how to hopefully _finally_ get Dean to make a move.

He closes the door to the bathroom behind him, rushing to put on clothes to fight off the impending cold, and walks out of the bedroom while drying his hair.

Kate raises an eyebrow at him when he passes by her, and he flushes—his blush only going further when she smiles knowingly.

“Oh hun,” she says, patting him on the head (even though he’s a good four inches taller than her), “do you want the apartment to yourselves tonight?”

Castiel doesn’t know whether he should feel more mortified than he already does, but he nods in answer. It would be nice to finally have Dean to himself. He blushes again.

Kate laughs, the sound tinkering and loving and nice… it makes Castiel a little envious to know that Adam had grown up with that sound, knowing how it evolved to become such a beautiful song now. “You’ll have the place all night long, darling. Now come on—help me bring these downstairs. ADAM!”

“I’m right _here,_ sheez,” Adam mutters, passing Castiel to go into the kitchen where there are several platters of food laid out on the counter. Castiel feels a little worse at the thought of Adam having to hear what he and his mother had been talking about, but he shakes his head and follows as Kate had instructed.

He—almost—gapes in amazement at the array of food Kate had prepared for dinner, surprised why Dean had never allowed her to prepare their meal before.

(Dean usually just lets Kate take reign of dessert; but he keeps his foot down when it comes to the main meals.)

“What’s with that face?” Adam asks, surprising Castiel enough to cause him to flinch. He’s still staring through the backseat window, watching the four trays of food that are piled against the faux – leather of his car.

“What face?” Castiel asks back, blinking at Adam before furrowing his eyebrows in confusion.

“Your _I don’t know what is happening_ face. It kinda looks like mine.” Adam shrugs, gesturing at Castiel’s face before laughing when he scowls. “Seriously, though, what’s up?”

Castiel shakes his head, his eyes flicking to the food for one last time before he pushes away from the car to let Adam get in. “I’m just wondering why Dean hasn’t let Kate cook our food before.”

He _practically_ feels when Adam tenses beside him, but when he surreptitiously sniffs, he finds no trace of emotion coming from the Theta. (It must be a Winchester trait. Heaven above knows how frustrating is it for him when Dean trails off during a conversation or stares into oblivion without a single scent coming off of him to help Castiel figure out just what’s running through his head.) He’s about to open his mouth—to apologize, to reassure the younger man, to say it’s alright not to answer, _he doesn’t know_ —

“Dean doesn’t really like having others take care of him,” Adam answers, his tone dark and harsh but his scent still _clear and it’s so fucking frustrating._ “Maybe it’s the product of his—their—his and Sam’s—childhood, or maybe it’s just the way he’s always been but. He’s never thought it’s worth him—he’s worth having someone spend so much time to take care of. So he does it for everyone.”

Castiel stops, eyes on Adam, and he is once again hit by the fact that he had once almost used Dean as a crutch to not get attached while allowing Dean to help _him_ , and he feels his heart break at the thought of Dean thinking he deserves nothing better from anyone.

He shakes his head, smiling at Adam sadly before walking to the driver side and sliding in—joined a few moments later by Adam and then a minute or two after him by Kate. He lets the car be silent on the drive to Sam’s apartment.

 

Dean is dozing in front of the television when they get there, and Castiel boldly walks over and straddles him, nuzzling against his exposed neck and letting his arm drape over the Alpha’s shoulder to the back of the couch.

He sees Sam standing over at the door to the kitchen, glasses perched on the tip of his nose, a small, soft smile on his face. His eyes flash those of confusion when their eyes meet and Castiel just smiles back, winking when he feels Dean shift because he knows _exactly_ what Sam is thinking about. He grins when he feels Dean nuzzle his throat.

“Hey babe,” he croaks, pressing a cool kiss against his skin. “You smell good.”

Castiel pulls back, eyebrow raised in silent question because it is _obvious_ in the content grin Dean has on his face that he smells _more_ than good.

“Okay, you smell _amazing,_ ” Dean whispers, leaning forward to press a gentle kiss against his mouth—moving to the side, mouthing at his jaw, “you…”

Castiel knows the exact moment Dean realizes _what_ exactly caused Castiel to smell as good when the Alpha tenses and he scents the faint traces of arousal. Castiel chuckles and pulls away, standing on his two feet before turning on his heel and walking off to the kitchen. Oh, tonight is going to be _good_.

He joins Adam, Sam and Kate at the kitchen preparing and reheating the food, rolling his eyes at the pointed pause of the conversation when he enters before helping out. He smirks when he hears Dean mutter a curse over at the living room.

Castiel isn’t really needed in the kitchen—he just wants a reason to _tease_ the Alpha still lounging—now probably sulking, Kate comments quietly—at the couch. He hadn’t been planning on teasing Dean when the evening began, it just _happened_ , but now he is glad because… call him what you want, but he wants _Dean_.

Anyone who doesn’t can just suck his dick.

He snickers to himself and shakes his head at the questioning look both Sam and Adam throw his way, mouthing ‘later’ at Sam when the younger Beta keeps his eyes trained on the Omega. Castiel knows what Sam is going to ask, and he is _hoping against hope_ that tonight—if he succeeds—is going to prove him _right_.

“Alright,” Kate finally announces, clapping her hands. “You three have ten minutes to go do whatever and then it’s dinner time.”

Castiel smiles, but he sees Sam’s inclined head and he nods. Adam raises his eyebrows at the both of them and—wow, Castiel must really be getting more adept at Winchester language because he can understand what Adam is asking. Castiel just pats him on the arm when he passes the Theta, following Sam out of the kitchen and down the hallway to what he assumes is the bedroom.

He assumes right.

He doesn’t check anymore if Dean saw where they were going, because he is now staring at the small rectangular box in the middle of Sam’s bed, and his stomach flutters in mixed emotions: worry, because it only means that Sam is now on the Spiral; gratefulness, because he may finally have his out; crushing guilt, because he dares feel _thankful_ when there’s someone else who’s about to suffer the same fate he did.

He still _is_.

He walks over to the bed, picks up the box, and sits down, resting it against his lap. Sam sits beside him and he sighs.

“You know,” Castiel starts conversationally, “I never meant to mate with Dean permanently. Relax,” he mutters, when he feels Sam tense and he scents _anger_ in the air. Winchesters and their protectiveness. “I’ll admit, I only wanted to use Dean back then as a… a scapegoat, a temporary solution that will make my situation worse before I started. Dean was—” he stops when his breath hitches, and he wants to curse his show of vulnerability. _Now is not the time._ “Dean made me feel… he made me feel like I was finally worth something, Sam, and that terrified me.

“It terrifies me even more now because I can see just how worthless of all this he sees himself. I started this out thinking of myself and my own interests only, but now… I’m—” he lets out a breath, and shifts so he is looking at his mate’s younger brother. _His mate’s younger brother._ “I’m in love with your brother,” he breathes, unsure and scared but exuberant, because he’s _finally admitted it to someone_.

“He—he means so much to me now, Sam. He means so much that I’m scared and I—” he puts the box of Instalthread on Sam’s lap, looking up to his eyes, showing as much earnestness as he can with one _look_. “I’m giving this to you for two reasons. One, because I know you’ll always mean more to Dean than I will.”

“ _Cas_ —”

“I _know_ , Sam, and let’s just hope and pray that he won’t have to choose between us, okay? But if—wh—if that happens, if it comes to that, I just want you to know that I will _never_ hold it against you, or your brother, okay? I know I’ll forever just be the second choice between us.”

He stares at Sam until the younger man nods, and he lets out the breath he hadn’t known he’d been holding. This is it—his final way out. Surprisingly, he doesn’t even question it or hesitate.

He _wants_ this. “The second reason is because I know this is it for me,” he says softly, smiling at the wide-eyed look Sam sends his way. He nods in agreement. “Dean is—Dean is _everything_ to me now, and I’m giving this to you because—”

“—Because it means you’re in this for life,” Sam mutters, finishing his sentence.

Castiel agrees.

He isn’t sure how he knows, but he _does_ , that whatever comes their way, he is in for Dean forever, Spiral or not. He grunts in surprise and holds on when Sam throws overly long limbs around him and tackles him down onto the mattress.

He doesn’t mention that he can scent, more so feel, the tears falling from Sam and onto the skin of his neck.

He also doesn’t bring to attention the fact that Kate had peeped into the doorway and gave them both small smiles as he buried his face against his mate’s brother’s shoulder.

If _this_ is what he gets for a million moments of hardship, he’ll take it. He’ll take this and more because that’s how much these people mean to him now.

He smiles and kisses Sam on the forehead when he pulls away, ignoring the slight blush that takes over the younger man’s face.

 _Younger by not so much,_ a small voice at the back of his mind says, but he ignores it because… frankly? Who cares? They walk out of the room together, joining Adam, Kate and Dean in the small dining room and just enjoying what they have for the moment.

If he enjoys the heated looks Dean sends his way then… well, no one of import has to know.

Conversation during dinner feels light and nice, even when Sam had to excuse himself because the phone rang only to come back with a flushed face and muttering something about Jess calling. Castiel and Dean had shared an amused glance at the tone by which he talked—which is the same tone he is sure his and Dean’s voices take when they about each other.

Life is good.

Castiel, Adam and Kate collectively vote for Sam and Dean to clean up after eating, all three of them heading towards the living room holding mugs of Adam’s special hot chocolate—“I make it especially when I miss mom,” he had said with a shrug, which made Castiel remember that neither one of them actually _belongs_ in Seraph, dampening his mood a little—and leaving the Alpha and Beta on their own in the kitchen.

They all laugh at Dean’s whining.

“Let me guess,” Kate says the moment she settles beside Castiel on the sofa—Adam takes the couch nearest the television—“you and Dean want the house to yourselves tonight.”

Castiel flushes at the words—his mortification worsening when he sees the smirk Adam throws over his shoulder at them. “That obvious, huh?”

Kate rolls his eyes. “You two act worse than _teenagers_ , we’d be blind not to see the looks you two kept sending each other.”

“And over food at that,” Adam adds conversationally, absently fiddling with the remote control. “I’m thankful I’m not a picky eater.”

Castiel rolls his eyes despite the pink tinge to his cheeks. “You’re one to talk,” he mutters, finally breaching the one topic he’d hasn’t allowed himself to even remotely _think_ of. He knows, of course, the implications and differences between the Dean’s courting of _him_ , and Jimmy’s of Adam.

He admits, even if just to himself, that Adam may have really been too young for his older brother, and he’s actually _happy_ that the Theta has—possibly—found someone knew, someone… _closer_ to his age range than Jimmy had been. He shakes the sadness that envelopes his heart at the thought of his brother and instead meets Adam’s glare with a raised eyebrow.

“Oh, you think _you’re_ being discreet with your little crush on—”

“ _Cas_!” Adam interrupts him, sending a panicked look to somewhere over Castiel’s shoulder—probably to his older brothers—and Castiel grins.

He raises his voice as he finishes his sentence. “What, you don’t think we haven’t noticed your crush on little Alfie?”

There’s an answering crash—a resounding curse—and then the room is filled with the tinkering sound of Kate’s laughter as Sam and Dean all but trample over the doorjamb to get to the living room, eyes wide and trained on their little brother. Adam is flushed and breathing hard, glaring daggers at Castiel.

“Sam,” he says, “mom and I are sleeping over.”

That cracks Kate up even more, and Castiel joins in—taking Adam’s answer as his concession to defeat. He doesn’t see the smile Adam gives his brothers, or the looks all three brothers exchanged.

He doesn’t have to.

He scents the contentment in the air, and, mixed with the crisp scent of winter and the exciting scents brought about by the Christmas season, he couldn’t help but wish he can make one of those snow globes they sell at convenience stores these way—snap this memory and keep it in a protective albeit fragile glass sphere, forever memorializing the love, happiness, completeness of the moment that he’d never experienced in this magnitude before.

Castiel calms down enough and smiles up at Dean when the Alpha comes up to him and kisses him on the forehead, grinning down at the Omega before pushing away and walking back towards the kitchen.

He rolls his eyes at the matching looks on Sam’s, Adam’s and Kate’s faces.

His mood is dampened for a second time this evening when he sees the sad, faraway look in Kate’s eyes as she looks away, her small smile giving the impression of _nostalgia,_ and Castiel remembers that, as far as legal laws go, Kate is most probably John Winchester’s present mate—or, at least, spouse.

 _Milligan,_ he mulls. _They’re not married._

He tries to reign in his happiness, to try to sympathize, but he can’t. If anything, he’s _glad_ Kate isn’t boxed into legally being tied to someone like John Winchester. He looks away and looks at Adam, watches as he stares at the television mulishly on his own, and he thinks they’re lucky because they still have each other.

Much like he always has been when Gabriel found him, how Dean and Sam will always have each other and that is never going to change.

 

It’s almost midnight when Castiel finally gives Adam the keys to his car and he and Dean walk out of Sam’s apartment to the Impala with their arms around each other, companionable silence between them as they walk on top of crisp snow to the car.

He kisses Dean on the jaw when they get to the car before slipping from under Dean’s warmth and into the freezing vehicle, teeth beginning to chatter before Dean can have the chance to turn the heat on. The drive back to Dean’s is silent—the Alpha doesn’t even turn the radio on—but the anticipation is rising.

Castiel can practically _taste_ the tension between them now, and he smirks.

 _Finally_.  

 

**..--..**

 

It probably isn’t the best he could have done, but he could not have helped himself if he tried either.

The moment he had Cas through the door he had pinned him against the wood, mouth crashing against the Omega’s as he wrapped his legs around Dean’s waist, arms going around his neck. They kissed, roughly and aggressively, until Cas had the sense to pull away and hiss “ _bedroom_ ” into Dean’s ear, which kick-started his brain enough to drag them both up the stairs and into his room.

He throws the Omega onto the bed, watching in entranced amazement as his mate’s lithe body writhed against the bedspread as he took his clothes off. He takes that as cue and divests himself of his own clothing before practically _diving_ in and landing on top of the Omega, relishing in the moan it gets out of him.

Dean kisses down Cas’s throat, nipping at his pulse, teasing for the implications of something more _permanent,_ as he rubbed Cas’s nipples gently—and that seemed to do it. He hears a whine and he _scents slick and minemineminemine—_

“ _Cas,_ ” he moans, one hand running from his mate’s chest down, to his hip, to his cock, to his ass—Dean circles Cas’s hole and he growls at the wetness his skin comes in contact with, knowing this is _his_ , he _caused_ this, and—

Cas keens when Dean slips two fingers inside without warning.

“God, Cas,” Dean breathes into Cas’s neck, still nipping and licking as Cas fists his hands into his hair. “You’re so wet, so _lose_ , you’re taking my fingers so well.” He pulls his fingers out, slips back in with three—meeting little resistance and he grins at the sound that Cas makes.

“ _Dean,_ ” he breathes, “ _make it fast, dammit._ ”

“Did you use a toy earlier, baby?” Dean asked, still teasing, curling his fingers and preening when his fingertips come in contact with Cas’s prostate, making the Omega arch into his chest, his cock rubbing against Dean’s abdomen. “Did you think of me, fucking you? _Knotting_ you?”

He’s been thinking about it almost constantly since he helped Cas through that drugged up Heat, and it really has been all he could do to stop himself from _bending Cas over and plunging into the hot, hot body_ —

“Yes!” Cas all but screams, coming only on Dean’s fingers and minimal rubbing against the Alpha, and answering his question at the same time. Dean grins, kisses Cas on the jaw before pulling their hips together, the tip of his cock just _resting there_.

He gulps loudly when he _feels_ Cas’s hole flutter against the head of his cock, and he waits until Cas is a little calm before sliding in, slowly, bit by bit, relishing in the whines coming from Cas’s throat. He’s probably a little sensitive, but he isn’t stopping the Alpha so—

Dean moans against Cas’s neck when he’s _finally enveloped in that sweet tight heat._

Cas is panting hard, eyes screwed shut and hands fisted on the sheets. His neck and chest are flushed, and he looks _delectable_.

“Move,” he hisses, and Dean complies—pulling out and fucking back in fast. It makes Cas yell, and Dean takes a pillow, slips it under Cas’s back, and lays himself over the Omega, going back to kissing and nipping at Cas’s throat as he just _fucks in—_

The angle hits Cas’s oversensitive prostate over and over, making the Omega keen and writhe and beg, but he scratches down Dean’s back and tells him, “ _don’t stop, please don’t stop Alpha”_ and Dean has no plans of stopping until he _really has to_. His knot begins to swell and catch at Cas’s rim and the Omega screams as he comes a second time—

Feeling him contract around Dean’s cock has him grinding up into his prostate, thrusting in shallowly until his knot inflates and he _comes_ , explosive and beautiful and endless and—

He sinks his teeth into Cas’s neck, right over his pulse, and Cas comes for a third time as the Alpha claims what is rightfully his.


	6. Chapter 6

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> What the fuck is wrong with Dean?

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Basically the whole chapter is explained by the summary
> 
> (This is kinda shorter than the rest of the chapters but rest assured that it will be better in the next one.)
> 
> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-warheit.tumblr.com) | [ For Prompts ](http://ehre-warheit.tumblr.com/ask)

Dean comes to and he’s still knotted to Cas, teeth still in the wound. He unlocks his jaw, making Cas whimper in pain, and he licks over the wound before rolling to the side—groaning when his knot gets pulled on and makes him come _again_ —god, won’t it ever end?

“Sorry, baby,” Dean whispers, not sure what he’s sorry for—the wound? The Mark? The knot?

“No,” Cas groans, burying his face onto Dean’s neck. “No, please don’t be sorry,” he breathes, his voice low and sleepy, and Dean smiles. “Love you, Alpha.”

Dean tenses, but Cas is already asleep.

He gulps. He thinks—he starts thinking because—and then Cas snuggles closer to him and he feels where they’re still connected and he just suddenly, _really_ doesn’t give a fuck.

“Yeah,” he says, voice soft as if afraid he’ll ruin something. “Love you too, Omega.”

 

Dean wakes up feeling groggy and downright _wanting_ when he feels Cas squirming against his front, but he fixes that quickly and effectively by plunging up into that _wet, tight body_ —

 

They mate a total of six times until late morning, when Dean groans and gets up regretfully because he doesn’t want to leave his bed but his brother and step mother are coming up to his apartment and—

“Dean,” Cas complains, snuggling into the pillows in front of him even deeper, as if wanting to disappear into the fabric. “Stop moving.”

“I gotta,” Dean whispers, chuckling as he leaves a kiss onto Cas’s shoulder. Their—he will never get tired of being plural, especially now that it’s something _permanent_ , and though that should scare him because he’d always thought it will, it doesn’t—room is a mess of scents and clothes and it’s the perfect image of _happily mated_ but it’s not something Dean wants to subject his family to, no matter how satisfying it would be to see the looks on their faces.

Instead he walks to the window and opens it a bit, tucking the thin curtain into the window sill just so there would be air circulating and Cas can breathe fresh air again. Next he grabs a pair of boxers and gets out of the room—leaving the door open and picking up bits and pieces that they must have knocked over in their mad dash to the bedroom last night.

The living room is, surprisingly, immaculate and he sighs in relief. That’s one less room to worry about. He finishes his circuit around his apartment in the kitchen, rummaging through his refrigerator for breakfast food because he just _knows_ that Sam wouldn’t have had fed Kate and Adam.

The thought of Sam causes a quick stab of worry through Dean.

The kid really hadn’t been himself fully last night, and if that wasn’t worrying—well, the fact that he and Cas had locked themselves in his bedroom for a full half hour should be. But Cas hasn’t brought anything up, and Sam _had_ promised that if something important was up, Dean will be the first to be put up to speed.

He couldn’t help but _worry_.

Worrying for Sam—it’s been his way of life for _years_. He can’t just shut it off because—because he has someone new to worry about and—

Dean sighs, scrubbing his hand up and down his face because he _can’t be thinking of this right now_. He curses the fact that biological imperative has left him now—he should be _happy and sated_ because he’s finally mated and aside from the physical satisfaction it brings there’s also emotional fulfillment but—but he can’t help it.

He can’t help but wonder if that’s how Sam and Cas see it, if they see things the same way he does. Dean isn’t sure how the realization came to, but it just slaps him in the face, hard.

He doesn’t want to think about it, but it’s something he _should_ be thinking of, worrying about.

Dean shakes his head.

He’ll cross that bridge if—when— _if_ he gets there.

 

**..--..**

 

Gabriel wakes up and the first thing he thinks is, _this is not my house_.

And then he remembers that he had gone to Kali’s for the evening and he rolls over, throwing his arm around the woman in the bed with him, pressing a kiss to her shoulder.

“Why does this feel so close to a farewell?” Kali asks, her voice regal and powerful because even for a Beta she has always been assertive. She has always known where she stands in life, and it’s one of the reasons Gabe loves her so fucking much.

“I don’t know what you’re talking about.” He _lies_. He does.

He hears Kali sigh, and then she’s wrapping him up in her arms and is kissing him on the side of the head and it’s the best treatment he’s ever received from anyone he cares about deeply—at least, next to his baby brother. “Don’t go, Gabriel,” Kali whispers, and Gabe buries his nose onto her neck, breathing in her scent and wishing he could keep his moment and live in it forever—

But he _can’t_ , because it’s his fault that she’s suddenly so _sad_ , so _unsure_ , and she doesn’t deserve to be. She is a goddess among men. He leaves a lingering kiss on her neck. “I love you,” he says, soft and sweet like he never has been this whole time, when he should have been.

“Gabriel—” She sounds choked. He soothes her with a kiss to the neck again.

“Shit’s about to hit the fan, Kali,” he says, because he has to be honest, one more time. “You have to get the hell out of dodge, and I have to do what I have to do.”

She’s silent for a few moments, and he feels it when she gives up. She slumps over him before she pulls away, shifting to her side so they’re facing each other. She tucks her head under his chin. “You’ve never told me,” she whispers, and she still sounds like the queen he’s always known her to be, “how you got sucked into this shit storm, how you’re connected to Dean Winchester. Why you think it’s your job to—to look after them.”

Gabe is quiet, mulling over her words, and he wonders if it’s fair—if anything is ever going to be fair in their lives. If he tells Kali, she’ll be the first to know about what happened, almost thirty years ago—aside from his—but that’s besides the point. He kisses her on top of the head. “Mary,” he says simply, and Kali shifts, pulling her head away to look at him.

“Your—your baby sister?” she asks, unsure, grief written clearly in her eyes. He remembers, suddenly, how she had told him all about losing her mother and baby sister during childbirth, and he shakes his head.

“Their mom,” he answers. “Sam’s and Dean’s,” he clarifies, clearing his throat, “John Winchester’s first wife. She—she uh. She used to teach Anna when she was in grade school before… before the first shit storm, and so… that’s why they were Hayden and Mary and not Hayden and Hailey.

“I. I only promised to take care of Sam, though. Dean—didn’t need me. He doesn’t—” He takes a deep breath. “As I said, shit’s about to hit the fan. And everyone I care about is going to be right in the middle of it.”

“Even me?” she asks.

Gabe kisses her on the nose. “Especially you.”

They’re quiet for a few moments, and Gabe thinks it’s over until Kali looks at him again, and he knows that look. It pains him how much he does, but he still sighs and lets her have it.

“I’ll leave,” she says, “under one condition. You tell me everything.”

 

**..--..**

 

Sam really isn’t sure how he winds up here, watching by the steps of his apartment as his step mom and younger brother gets into the car and drives off. He hasn’t called Jess back, even though he’s promised, and he hasn’t called Cas nor Dean either—it’s almost midday, he’s sure they’re both out of bed by now—but he doesn’t really feel the compulsion to.

Jess will probably be out with her parents and sisters, hanging out at wherever because her youngest sister, Jenna, is free for the weekend for the first time in _months_. Sam hasn’t been in high school for a few years now, but Seraph’s high school seems to be stressing their kids out more and more as the years pass—

Or—

He cuts his mind off before it completes whatever thought is brewing inside, sure that it’s just going to stress him out even more.

Cas and Dean are probably _not_ honeymooning it yet over at the apartment, but he’d never know; besides, he really _doesn’t_ want to know. His only option is Andrea, right now, really, but he’s sure _she’s_ busy with Trala, and—

“Ugh,” he says out loud, frowning before turning on his heel and walking back inside, pulling his coat closer to his body because it’s beginning to seep into his bones and _really_ , he hates winter.

He loves Christmas, though, and before he gets into the elevator he looks at the waiting area and smiles softly at the glowing tree they’ve put up over there, watching little children run around the thing, giggling in that innocent, carefree manner that makes Sam feel bittersweet.

His mind goes to that picture he’d found in Dean’s wallet, that first Christmas in Seraph; how he felt nostalgic and strange at the same times because _he knows that face_ but at the same time he _doesn’t_ , and how he had felt bad because when Dean came into his room and saw that Sam had that picture in his hands he looked like he wanted to cry, but he just shook his head and walked out.

He has a copy of that picture now, kept crisp in between the pages of his favorite book, ever—that dictionary Dad had given him as a child because it had been the most precious thing he’s ever received, and even though Dad was a douchebag and he was never around, he still remembered to give him _that_ , and it didn’t feel like he was memorializing his mom when he put both her photo and his book together like that, like they belong together, kept in the safest place Sam can think of.

He gets into the elevator and rings his floor, smiling slightly at the man and woman inside of it with him. The woman gets off one floor before him, and the man gets off on his floor.

It makes his hackles rise, and the turns the wrong hallway just to make sure he isn’t being followed.

He _is_.

He slips his hand into his pocket and power walks towards the stairs, his finger pressing a button on his phone and hoping it’s the right one.

He’s almost at the door when someone grabs his arm and yanks him back, and he’s faced with a stone – faced man looking a little annoyed.

“Mr. Winchester,” he says, “we would like to speak to you.”

He scrambles away from the guy and presses his back against the wall, hoping that Dean had answered his phone and is listening in right now. “I’m off of work for winter,” Sam says, wide eyed and a little scared. “I thought I wasn’t supposed to be called for duty while on leave.”

“This is not a call from your boss, Mr. Winchester,” the man says again, voice stormy and _absolutely_ done. “This is a call from your father.”

Sam gulps. “Dean?” he says, hating the way his voice is meek and croaky. “Help me.”

 

Sam has always hated the way Seraph offices look like.

The administration building—that’s what everyone calls it, though secretly they all call it the Pit of Hell, which _really_ , it makes sense—because it’s constructed and designed to make it feel _comfortable_ and _uncomfortable_ at the same time and really, all you want to do when you’re called into the building is to wish you can get out as soon as possible.

It’s a twenty four storey building, including the three floors underground as parking space. The first five floors are all modern and cool—metal and glass, with granite finish and white leather furniture. Not even the offices have carpets to warm their feet on, and the AC makes it feel _cold_.

The higher up you go, the warmer and… more _homey_ the place makes it looks.

Which makes Sam hate the fact that John Winchester’s office is on the top most floor.

The whole floor doesn’t have closed walls—it’s all glass panes and wooden panel floors and colorful Persian rugs and corduroy furniture and—

“Sammy.”

He flinches, tenses, automatically straightens when he hears that voice.

He hasn’t heard his father’s voice in _months_ —not before Dean’s mission—and hearing his voice _now_ sends him straight into defensive mode because…

“Dad,” he says, his voice as steady as he isn’t feeling, and he turns to see John’s faint smile. He gestures with his hand—silently telling Sam to follow him into the only room separated by actual walls.

He sits down, back straight, the moment the door is closed behind him.

“It’s good to see you,” John says, clasping a hand on Sam’s shoulder and the younger Winchester struggles not to wince or shudder. His father hasn’t even begun talking about whatever the reason he was called her for, but he’s already getting the bad vibes. “How are you doing? Is winter treating you fairly enough?”

 _How about you ask about your two other sons? About_ Kate _?_ he wants to ask, but he keeps that in his mind and says, “I’m fine, dad, thank you. Winter is treating me well, and aside from a quick bout of the common colds the other day I’m doing fine.” He has to physically restrain himself from touching his wrist by sitting on his left hand. “How are you? I—we haven’t heard from you. In a while.” He takes a deep breath—he just _suddenly couldn’t breathe_.

John’s smile isn’t really helping him any. “I’ve been… well,” John says, his voice and face devoid of emotion, and Sam feels like someone just dropped a bucket of ice down his back. “How is— _are_ your brothers?”

“They’re good,” he answers, feeling choked. There’s a bitter taste at the back of his throat and he just _knows_ it has nothing to do with the Spiral, or the meds, or the weather, it’s just _John_ , the way he refers to the plural like an _afterthought_ , the way Sam feels like he did this on purpose: call Sam out, without Dean or Adam or _anyone_.

“Just good?” John’s eyebrows raise, and Sam wants nothing more than to punch the fucking man across the face for the expression. “I wasn’t allowed to see them, you know. When they were in the hospital.” He sits down on the chair in front of Sam, and he forces himself not to slide away, to stay in place. “I heard you were the only one there, the only one allowed to see them. How are your brothers, Sam?”

“They’re doing well. They’re—they’ll get better, but it’s. It’s expected, after what they’ve gone through. I think—I think Adam’s faring better than anyone expected, dad. And Dean is doing well, too.”

John hums, a contemplative look on his face as he stares at Sam, making him want to squirm. But _no,_ he’s not going to give John the pleasure of seeing him uncomfortable. He’s going to tie himself down to this chair if he has to. And then he leans back, eyebrows raised. “Well, it was good to hear from you, Sammy. You can go.”

Sam blinks.

“I— _what_?” he says, voice choked as he stares at his father in shock. “You—” he takes a deep, calming breath that doesn’t really work and gets up, eyes hard as he glares at his father. “I hope you don’t plan on keeping this up,” he says lowly.

“Keep what up, son?”

“ _This!_ Practically kidnapping me to your office just so, what? To assert the fact that you’re still in the picture? Well, news flash, dad! _We don’t need the reminder_ , thank you very much. Can’t you just act like a normal dad for once and _come out to talk to us yourself_?”

His whole body is tired by the time he finishes his tirade, and he doesn’t feel like fighting for anything anymore. Instead he just gives his father one last look—registering the shock in his eyes—before turning on his heel and leaving.

It was probably a bad idea to try to piss John off at this time, but he couldn’t care less. At least he got it off his chest, and that’s what mattered to him right now.

Dean is waiting in the lobby when he gets there. He looks _livid_ , breathing hard and hands fisted by his sides. The guards are eyeing him warily, probably knowing that they can do shit about it if he snaps. He tries to smile but, judging from the way his older brother seems to get even _angrier_ , it doesn’t work.

“Hey, Dean,” Sam says, reaching out to touch the Alpha’s shoulder. He gives way, immediately turning so Sam is leading the both of them out of the building. “Where’s Cas?”

“What did he want from you?”

Sam sighs. “Dean—”

“ _What. Did. John. Want._ ”

“He—he wanted to know how you and Adam were. I—I don’t know why he went about it the way he did but—”

“He’s an asshole, that’s why.”

“Where’s _Cas_ , Dean?”

Dean blinks at him as they reach the car, as if he’s asking a question in a different language, and Sam suddenly feels his anger from earlier come back in the form of annoyance and irritation.

“ _Cas_ , Dean? Your mate? The Omega? Ring a bell?”

Dean shakes his head, a flash of emotion in his eyes that made Sam feel like the world is going to get split in two. “Get in the car.”

“Dean—”

“We’ll go see Cas if that’s what you want. Just get in the goddamned car!”

Sam blinks and gets in the Impala, shocked as he stares out the windshield. This is barely the first time Dean has yelled at him, but this time it seems… it seems oddly disconcerting, especially with the way Dean keeps his face impassive. Did something happen? Had he not mated with Cas last night?

 _What the fuck_ is wrong with Dean?

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am sooooooo sorry. I beg for your forgiveness for not being able to update much sooner (or much more regularly) but right now, i don't care
> 
> ihaveanexamtomorroweveningandicantfailthatbutwhatever
> 
> I hope you enjoyed! :D
> 
>  **me in 2017 @ my 2014 self** lmao bitch what the fvck


	7. Chapter 7

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> _Just a little more time_ , he tells himself again, knowing it is most probably the biggest lie ever told by anyone from this hell of a place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Angst. Seriously, angst.
> 
> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-warheit.tumblr.com) | [ For Prompts ](http://ehre-warheit.tumblr.com/ask)
> 
> **2017:** c, u don't know angst. for real. wow.

Castiel isn’t sure what he’s waiting for, as he sits in the living room staring at the door, fingers wrapped around a mug of steaming coffee. Dean had just come back from picking Adam and Kate up, but the Alpha seems… off.

He feels someone wrap around his torso and he sighs, sinking into the body heat of his mate.

“Hey,” Dean whispers, and Castiel suddenly feels stupid for even worrying at all. They’re _fine._ “Penny for your thoughts?”

He smiles, because for someone who hates chick flick moments, Dean surely loves hearing about what Castiel is thinking. “You’d pay just to feed your ego, won’t you,” Castiel answers, turning his head to nuzzle under Dean’s chin.

“Only if I’m paying you.”

Castiel snorts. “That’s the corniest thing I’ve ever heard.”

Dean chuckles and pulls away, but he jumps over the backrest of the couch to sit beside Castiel, arm around his waist. “Come on, seriously. I could practically hear you thinking from the kitchen.”

Castiel rolls his eyes but sighs, pressing against Dean. He should just let this die out, he’s sure that Dean won’t push it if he wants. He’s pretty sure Dean’s going to think it’s because of him again, and Castiel knows that’s not going to be a good thing.

 _But it_ is _because of him._

His hand automatically reaches up to his neck, where he feels the soft cotton of the bandage Dean had taped over the wound earlier. And he reels—because he can practically feel Dean lock up and tense from beside him, and he knows the Alpha is looking at where he’s holding onto the mark.

_The Mark._

“Dean,” Castiel begins, willing himself to move when the Alpha extracts himself from his side, but he doesn’t move. He _can’t_. “Dean, please—”

There’s a tense silence, broken by both of their soft breathing, and Castiel wants to throw himself out of the window. He takes a deep breath—only to choke on it when the only thing he scents is his and Dean’s, mixed together, a perfect blend of homey and earthy.

He watches as Dean drops his head to his hands, watches as the tension grows in the Alpha’s shoulders, watches and does nothing as his mate blames himself for something he doesn’t have a say in.

“Dean—”

The Alpha storms away from him so suddenly that Castiel feels a quick sting of rejection—only to be nullified and then worsened by a sense of guilt as he looks up, sees Dean with red-rimmed eyes, watching him. He looks—for a lack of a better term—like a lost puppy, and Castiel wants to cry because it’s _his fault Dean looks like that._

He stands up, only to fall back on the couch again when Dean’s phone rings.

The Alpha looks agitated as he flips it open and presses it against his ear, yelling his brother’s name and then running out of the apartment.

Castiel feels nothing but cold and numbness, and though a part of him knows it’s his own fault, the bigger, more selfish part of him blames Dean.

He blames Dean for being such an understanding Alpha, for being such a perfect human being. He blames Dean for making him fall in love, when he’s promised he never would; for making Castiel believe that he could actually finally have something good in his life.

He blames Dean for everything, and it makes him feel worse because he knows that if he falls to his knees and begs Dean to come back he would. Dean will.

He sets his coffee mug down and wraps his arms around his legs—pressing his eyes against his knees until all he sees is white. This isn’t fair.

Castiel’s head snaps up when he feels someone run their hands through it, hoping for a second it would be Dean. He doesn’t feel disappointed when he sees it’s Kate, though.

“Hey, sweetheart,” she says, her voice soft and motherly and it makes Castiel’s heart ache even more. “What’s wrong?”

Castiel blinks when she reaches up and wipes tears off his cheeks—he hasn’t even noticed he was crying. “I.” He takes a deep, calming breath. It doesn’t work. “I might have—I might have. Implied I regret—” he chokes off, hand coming up to cup the Mark once more, and there’s an ache deep within his soul—the ache for the warmth and comfort of his mate.

Kate’s smile is genuine and concerned. “I’m sure Dean knows that’s not true. You can just apologize and he’ll take you back.”

“That’s the thing!” Castiel says, voice just shy of yelling. Kate doesn’t deserve to be yelled at, much less by an overly emotional Omega—the Omega that had used her son, rejected him, _mated him_ , and then rejected him again. It isn’t fair. “I’m—this _isn’t the first time,_ Kate, and I’m—it’s so unfair. I know he’ll take me back. I know he’ll forgive me, _because he thinks this is his fault_.”

“Then what’s wrong?”

“I don’t deserve someone like him, Kate. He deserves someone—someone better, someone who doesn’t have the risk of pushing him away when he needs them most.”

“And do you think it’s fair to assume he doesn’t think the same?”

That stops Castiel, and he stares at Kate as she kneels in front of him, hands on both of his knees. She smiles again.

“I see the way that boy looks at you, Castiel. He loves you, whether he’s told you or not. And I’m sure you love him, too, and what you’re going through now? That’s part of you two growing up together. Not everything is sunshine.”

Castiel sniffs, and then smiles and gathers the older woman into his arms, squeezing her tight. “Thank you,” he says, wishing he could believe a single thing that’s running through his head. “Thank you, Kate.”

“It’s no problem, sweetheart. Now, come on. Would you like to make lunch with me?”

Castiel laughs. “Dean doesn’t trust me enough in the kitchen.”

“That’s why you cook with his mother.” Kate winks, and somehow it doesn’t feel strange that she had just referred to herself as his mate’s mother, because it’s true. As much as he knows Dean and Sam loved— _loves—_ Mary, the mother they have today is Kate Milligan.

“Okay.”

 

He isn’t sure whether he feels dread or relief when he finally hears the front door open. He and Kate had been in the kitchen for almost an hour—Castiel watching in awed wonder as Kate created these masterpieces of art and taste from scratch. Adam had learned to make himself scarce after a rather violent hit to his head from his mother after he had grabbed a brownie.

“That’s for dessert, you uncivilized monkey!” she had scolded, rolling her eyes as Adam laughed and walked away, probably locking himself in the guest room which they were sharing.

And then she had looked at him and smiled, and Castiel hadn’t felt that much warmth in a _long_ time. It was a beautiful feeling to behold.

And then the front door opens.

It’s like he’s been woken from a deep, wonderful dream, and he suddenly feels like he’s shaking all over—and he isn’t even sure what _from_. All he knows is that there’s _something_ that must have happened the night before, between them mating and Castiel waking up happy and sated in the bed. He hadn’t given it much thought when he woke up with Dean in the kitchen, not the bed, but he had chosen to ignore it.

Maybe if he hadn’t—

Maybe if he _didn’t_ , he’d have known what’s wrong, he’d have realized there _was_ something wrong.

“Go sit, sweetheart,” Kate says softly, and Castiel nods. He follows her warm firmness as she leads him to the kitchen chair, letting himself fall onto it as she leaves the kitchen to talk to whoever had entered the house.

 _Your mate, probably_ , a voice in his head sneers, and for the first time in years, Castiel listens to it, lets it rant at him and his stupidity. _This is what you get for ever thinking you deserve something even close to a normal life. And this is what you get for thinking that Dean Winchester is anything more than a monster_.

He stops himself there.

He shakes his head, and his attention is taken by the conversation in the living room.

“… _don’t know_ , Kate,” Sam is saying, and he sounds frustrated and tired. “He just—he picked me up and dropped me off here. I don’t know where he went next.”

So Dean isn’t home.

Castiel isn’t sure he feels relieved about that.

And then he feels guilty. He shouldn’t be glad is mate isn’t here. It’s not fair—not to Dean, not to himself. He decides it’s time he fixed whatever… _this_ is and he stands up, going to the living room and stopping the conversation between Sam and Kate.

“Cas,” Sam says, and he blinks. “Do you know what’s wrong with Dean?”

Castiel hesitates. Should he tell—

He shakes his head. This is a… whether he likes it or not, a _domestic_ situation, something between him and Dean and something _they_ need to resolve between themselves.  “I think we have to talk about some things, first. Where—” he swallows. “Is there anywhere he may have gone to?”

He looks up to see Sam staring at him rather intensely—and he forces a smile. He _needs_ Sam to do this for him, at least this one time. His hand automatically goes to the wound on his neck and he curses under his breath when Sam’s eyes are attracted to the motion.

Sam pales.

“There’s an old house, up that private property hill down East. You—” he reaches into his pocket, grabs a card from his wallet—which makes Castiel feel even stranger about this—and flicks it over. It’s an official gate pass. “Use that. It’ll get you out of the gates no question, at least. Follow the asphalt up until the first turn, and follow that dirt road up the hill. He—Dean should be there.”

Castiel nods, but his attention is advertently grabbed by the card in his hands again. _What is it about this card_? he wants to ask, but Sam talks before he could ask properly.

“Dean got himself and I those cards a few years back, after—after. You know. He drove me over—first time he _ever_ let me drive Baby, too. Anyway, and he showed me. Before everything went to shit. He showed me.” He takes a deep breath. “Maybe he’d want to show you, too.”

Castiel blinks and nods, his mind stuck on the looks of _longing_ and _fondness_ that seem to haunt Sam instead of warm him, and he grabs his keys before walking out of the apartment—not even caring at all that he hasn’t changed from Dean’s shirt, but he doesn’t care.

He’s gotten a general idea of what Sam had been pointing to, but still he isn’t sure. He wants to see for himself.

And, hopefully, Dean wants him to see, too.

 

**..--..**

 

There’s a breeze that enters the open door, carrying with it the scent and the chill of winter and the coming festivities. But that isn’t the focus of attention right now, is it? It’s the house.

Years ago— _decades ago_ —it stood beautiful and warm and cozy, made specifically to suit the needs of its inhabitants. It had boasted the messages of freedom, and love, and familiarity, and victory; it had given its owners and visitors the atmosphere of hope and life and love. But that isn’t how it looks today. Today it’s old and looks about ready to fall apart—the paint, once a lively, welcoming beige, is grey and peeling more than not around the walls; the gate that had once bordered the beautiful garden was gnarled and rusted and virtually non-existent; the front and back yards were overgrown with weeds and wild plants that is mother nature wanting to claim what was its own.

But there is still much beauty in destruction.

To the left of the house is an old, old oak tree—much older than the house itself, probably older than _anything_ that surrounds it—and it gives the dilapidated house an ancient feel. It doesn’t feel haunted.

Decades ago, this house had been free—not fenced in like it is now, hidden from the view of many others to hide the negativity that surrounds it.

But that doesn’t negate the fact the walls of this house had been filled with the warmth and innocence of a love so strong it had broken an entire _empire_ down. It is filled with the memories of a life almost forgotten, of a life never known. It is filled with the secrets of a father, the tears of a mother. The laughter of a beautiful child.

Decades ago, this was the home of a family who deserved nothing but the best, nothing but happiness.

Now it stands as a reminder of all the things Dean Winchester could have had, could have been, could have felt. It is a reminder of all the things that _can’t_.

He sits in what used to be his— _their_ —living room (he doesn’t see himself as a member of that family now: that happy, warm family with a four year old child and a mother and a father and a little brother) now, on the old couch, head in his hands. The whole place had been covered in white sheets, the floor covered in a thick layer of dust accumulated through years of it being uninhabited.

He had taken the sheets off of several items in the house: the couch, the mantelpiece, the coffee table. Dean hadn’t come here in a long time—the last being what would have been Mary’s fortieth birthday. He had brought flowers then—left it at what was left of the nursery where she had been killed. He doesn’t go up there now, knowing all it will do is show him an old, musty room with rotten flowers on the ground and cobwebs in the corners of the ceilings, unkempt and forgotten like it never fucking meant anything at all.

He keeps his eyes closed, as if it would help keep the memories of his childhood—no. It hadn’t even been his childhood—it had been the _first four years of his life_. He isn’t supposed to be remembering things as vividly as he _is_ , but—

He sighs.

There’s no point in trying to understand all this shit _now_ , of all times—there really isn’t. There’s a reason he’s come here today and that’s because he’s a fucking coward.

He’s a fucking coward he outright laughs at the fact that he presented as an Alpha as a teenager. He doesn’t deserve to be. He’s far too fucking scared to admit that his _mate_ doesn’t really want to be his _mate_ ; that the reason it’s making him act like a fucking butthurt teenager was because he is so fucking in love that he doesn’t know where it’s all coming from anymore.

He’s surprised he isn’t fucking _bursting_ with all the emotions he feels for Cas whenever he sees him.

Whenever he wakes up in the morning and he turns to see Castiel right _there_ , deep in sleep, dark circles under his eyes due to night terrors but still beautiful.

Whenever he turns from the stove in the mornings and sees Cas hobbling towards the counter, looking for his daily mug of coffee, yawning and pawing at his head like a cat coming out of sleep.

Whenever Cas walks out of the shower and even though it’s wet his hair is pointing at every which way because that’s just how Cas dries his hair with his towel and he doesn’t give a fuck because it’s Cas.

The way Cas looks at him at night when he’s just woken up from a nightmare like he can’t decide if Dean is supposed to be a good thing or a bad thing, but still settling into his arms every night.

The way Cas makes him feel when he ignores Dean’s subtle attempts at bringing up the fact that more often than not, Cas had been _pregnant_ in his nightmares, pregnant with Dean’s child.

He’s not sure how he’s still whole, how can still survive when there are just so many pieces of him now laying around him, around his feet, covering all the people he loves; how he loses all those people whenever he does them; how he can never get them back no matter how much he tries, no matter how valiantly he tells himself he’s okay.

He stands up, walks around a little—his footsteps so light that he doesn’t even kick up a single speck of dust. He enters the room that used to be the kitchen—watching blankly as the sunlight pours in in weak trickles through the cracks in the soot that had been burned into the glass panes of the windows—before moving on into the old dining room. The old oak table still stands, burnt to a crisp but still standing. He remembers how proud John had been when he brought it inside the house, carrying Dean and pointing and saying, “See that, Dean-o? Daddy made that for you and mommy and Sammy. It’s pretty, huh?”

He walks away before he can think of what happened next.

And then he’s walking down the corridor, fingers almost touching the serrated walls as he passes by them, until he reaches the stairs.

He freezes—

Because Cas is right _there_ , at the front door, looking up at him with the most beautiful blue eyes he has ever seen, but _what is he doing here—_

“Sam told me,” Cas interrupts, and Dean’s whole thought process shuts down.

He turns on his heel and walks back to the living room, sitting down heavily on the couch and _finally_ kicking up the dust. Cas follows him inside. He doesn’t look back, but he knows Cas is looking around, his training kicking in and judging what could have happened to this scorched house.

 _What they made everyone believe happened,_ a voice in his head says, and again, he tells little Dean to _please shut the fuck up_.

The soft breeze that comes in isn’t strong enough to kick up the heavy layer of dust over the furniture—and Dean—but it’s enough to bring to him the scent of _mate_ and _home_ , and scenting that in _this_ house is giving him so many ideas that he just has to stop breathing for a bit so he can think more clearly.

Cas stands right in front of him, feet bracketed by his. Dean keeps his eyes on that spot on the floor, because it’s far more interesting to look at than the disgust and hatred he’s sure he’ll see when he meets his mate’s eyes.

_Disgust. Hate._

He squeezes his eyes and tries not to jerk in pain at the thought of all those three words together in one sensible sentence, because they’re not supposed to be together and especially not in a sense that means _something_. It’s like he can’t breathe, so suddenly—there are bands around his chest that are squeezing tighter, tighter, tighter, _nocan’tbreathe help—_

He takes greedy lungfuls of Cas’s scent.

The Omega had decided to straddle his lap, pulling on Dean’s head so his face is smashed against his neck and Dean is reminded of the very first time they did this—in that plane, on their way to the mission that started everything, and he tries to laugh but he _can’t_ , because this is _mate, home._ It’s _amazing_ what scent comfort from Cas does to Dean, and he doesn’t ask questions.

Instead, he ignores the cotton gauze his forehead is pressing against and he wraps his arms around Cas’s waist, enjoying the fact that Cas has his arms around his neck and is kissing his head and telling him, “ _It’s alright, Alpha, I’m here. I’m right here. You’re okay. We’re okay. It’s alright. It’s alright, Alpha.”_

Because he really is, and there’s nothing in his scent but sorrow.

“Sorry,” Dean breathes. “I—I shouldn’t have walked out. Sorry, Cas.”

Cas pulls away and Dean only has a moment to lament the loss of his scent before Cas is kissing him, soft and chaste and it’s the best fucking kiss he’s ever had the pleasure of tasting. “It’s okay, Dean,” Cas says softly, seriously, blue eyes shining and red-rimmed. “We were both at fault. We’re okay now.”

Dean smiles before he pulls Cas closer again, kissing his neck. “We’re okay.”

 

**..--..**

 

Sam doesn’t know what possessed him to tell Cas where he thinks Dean would have gone. Damn it, not even _John_ knows Dean visits the old house!

He keeps on his pacing, knowing it’s probably driving Kate and Adam crazy but not really able to care because there are only two ways it could have gone, now that it’s been over an hour and they haven’t heard from either Cas or Dean yet: a) Dean freaked out and ran away, pushing Cas further and now their fighting; or b) they got over their shit and they’re figuring everything out.

He prays—he’s been doing that a lot, lately—that it’s the latter, because he can’t imagine what the effects of Dean’s freaking out (even worse than he already has) would be, not only to him, but to Cas, too. And Kate. And Adam.

God damn it, _John_ would fucking know.

He takes a deep breath and forces himself to sit down, curling up and tucking himself against Kate. What a sight they are, he’s sure—tall, gangly Beta tucking himself against a small Theta. He shuts his eyes and buries his face against Kate’s neck, and she hushes him like he’s a baby because he _is_ , there’s no question about that. He has a dozen of people who would prove to him that he’s just a fucking baby.

Sam takes deep, calming breaths, before finally pulling away again and bringing his phone out. He taps it against his palm hesitantly—they’ll have to find out one way or another, anyway, but he doesn’t think he’s ready to do it just yet.

 _Just giving them a little more time_ , he tells himself, as he puts his phone down and tucks himself against Kate once more. _They need a little more alone time, and I’m giving it to them._

He glances at Adam, but his brother is twiddling with his phone, a look of concentration on his face. The sight makes him smile: he remembers how that look was on his face one Christmas, while he was trying to open a gift from Dean. The Alpha had taken a picture (he’s sure it’s still somewhere out there).

Adam had his eyebrows scrunched together, tip of his tongue poking out of the corner of his mouth, part of his bottom lip stuck between his teeth. It looks adorable, to be perfectly honest: shows Adam’s innocence.

The smile fades from his face when he realizes that Adam is still _here_. The administration hasn’t called anyone for briefing on what to do with Adam yet—there’s no clear signal on when the kid can get back out here.

Again, Sam finds himself praying.

This time that Adam _can_ get out.

He deserves that much—and _so much more_.

Sam shakes his head and closes his eyes.

 _Just a little more time,_ he tells himself again, knowing it is most probably the biggest lie ever told by anyone from this hell of a place.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> **2017 EDIT:** going through my writings and author's notes fr. 2014 reminds me that there was a time when i didn't feel as shitty as i do now lmao ~~give me love~~
> 
> like u can skip this rant rn if u want to but
> 
> 2014 me hasn't even gone through CI leaving home and scaring the shit out of me b/c he said he was going to kill himself like wtf
> 
> 2014 me was an innocent birb who hasn't written angst like it should be written
> 
> 2014 me HASN'T SEEN YURI ON ICE HOLY SHIT


	8. Chapter 8

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He hesitates—then decides, fuck it. “I screwed up, man. I screwed up big time.”  
> “What do you mean?” 
> 
> He smiles. Dean is far too perfect for Cas. “I can’t do jack shit about it, Dean. No apologies. I can’t beg—it’s… it’s not gonna cut it. Not this time.”
> 
> Silence. Then, _“What?”_

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I screwed up big time, too--I thought I was never going to get this chapter out, but thank Chuck for Christmas and semester breaks. Finally, I have some free time :D
> 
> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-warheit.tumblr.com) | [ For Prompts ](http://ehre-warheit.tumblr.com/ask)

Sam falls asleep.

Well, he must have, because the next time he comes to, it’s to Dean’s and Cas’s voices flowing from their conversation in the kitchen to where he was laying in the living room. He looks to his left and finds Adam curled up on the arm chair, blanket hanging off his shoulder.

“—Gabriel’s call,” Cas was saying, his voice soft and gentle.

There’s a pause. “Do you think it’s true, then?”

“I don’t—I don’t know, Dean. Can we go see him in the morning?”

“Sure thing, babe. Hey, check the onions—I think we can add the pepper now.”

“Oh—um. Dean?”

He hears Dean laugh, and he smiles. He hasn’t heard that in a while. “It’s fine, babe. It’s supposed to look like that.”

“I’m hopeless in the kitchen.”

“We all are until someone comes in and saves the day—or the stove, for that matter. Go slice the mushrooms.”

“…I’d stay with the onions, thanks.”

Dean laughs again.

Sam turns and buries his face into the fabric of the throw pillow under his head, trying his best to ignore the grumbling in his stomach at the smell of Dean’s homemade spaghetti sauce.

Dean may be an Alpha, but he’s an Alpha who grew up raising a kid brother—he is _mean_ in the kitchen and anyone who tells him otherwise can go fuck themselves.

“Sammy! I know you’re awake. We’re out of butter, go get some, will ya?”

And… well, he’s still an older brother.

“Sammy still asleep!” Sam calls back, even as he sits up and stretches his long limbs over his head. “You owe me, jerk.”

“Whatever. I’m feeding you, bitch.”

“Language!” two voices say at the same time, and Sam looks to the hallway at the exact same time Kate immerges from her shower, face stern and fist on her hip.

“Sorry,” Dean calls, both to appease their mom and his mate, probably. Sam sniggers once more before leaving the apartment.

Yeah, there’s a million things they haven’t even begun figuring out yet, but that’s not really what matters. What does, though, is family.

And, quoting Disney (don’t tell Dean, even if he secretly loves Disney), _family means no one gets left behind_.

The image of John pops into his mind.

He ignores it for now.

 

**..--..**

When Gabriel hangs up the call, he looks at his mate, his beautiful Kali, one last time, giving her a sad smile and kissing her nose when he reaches out for one.

“Now you know,” he tells her, and an anxious twist in his stomach makes him swallow the bile threatening to crawl up his throat, “and you’re in grave danger. If anyone— _anyone_ —from past or present finds out you know anything about what happened that year, you’re in grave danger. You have to leave, Kali.”

She looks sad, but she knows she has no choice, and that’s why he loves her so much. She’s beautiful, she’s smart—and that’s why he knows she’ll survive.

He hugs her one last time. They’re still at her place, but he’s about to leave—and they may not know it for sure yet, but Gabriel is getting the feeling it’s going to be permanent, this time. There’s no going back anymore, and with the sad, haunted look in Kali’s eyes when they pull away, she knows it, too.

“I love you,” she says. “I’ll wait for you, okay? You’ll find me. You _always_ find me.”

Gabriel smiles, albeit missing the mischief that is usually there. “And I love you. You don’t have to wait for me, Kali. You’re a strong woman. You’ll find someone strong enough to be and stay by your side.”

“Gabriel—”

“I—goodbye, Kali.”

There’s a single tear that falls from her eyes. “Bye, Gabe.”

He turns around, and walks. He keeps walking, and walking, and walking, forcing himself not to look back, because if he does, he knows he’ll crumble and he’ll run to her side and never want to leave again. That’s how weak he is. That’s how much he loves that woman.

He eyes his phone once more, when he gets back to his apartment. He knows the number he’s supposed—allowed—to call, and he takes a deep breath before dialing it.

Gabriel stops the call right before the last digit.

He can’t do it.

Not now—not _yet_. He’ll have to wait until Kali gets out, that’s his safest bet. Instead he looks for his baby brother’s number and dials that again, waiting silently for the two rings it takes before Cas answers.

“Casi,” Gabriel greets, false brightness in his voice making it too high and he cringes.

“ _You’re not fine_ ,” Dean says, and Gabriel sighs. _Of course_ Cas just had to leave his phone with his fucking mate. “ _What happened?_ ”

He hesitates—then decides, fuck it. “I screwed up, man. I screwed up big time.”

“ _What do you mean?”_

He smiles. Dean is far too perfect for Cas. “I can’t do jack shit about it, Dean. No apologies. I can’t beg—it’s… it’s not gonna cut it. Not this time.”

Silence. Then, “ _What_?”

“She’s—I don’t know, man. She’s perfect. And I’m not. And I needed her, she needed me, I pushed her away—and that’s the last straw. She’s—she’s really leaving, Dean.”

“ _Leaving_ —”

“Seraph.”

There’s another, longer silence. “ _How will she do that?_ ” he asks quietly, and Gabriel knows what he’s thinking. It’s the reason he brought it up.

“When December rolls around, all of Seraph’s defenses go down. That’s why the Host is rarely sent off on winter missions. They stay here to keep the whole damn fort safe. She’s getting out as soon as they open the gates. No one will notice.”

“ _Come spring_?”

“I don’t think it matters much, Dean. She’s not a Host. She’s not even a Handler.”

“ _She’s a member of the Flight_.”

“If your brother wasn’t John Winchester’s son, do you think anyone would care if he disappears?”

Silence again.

“Thought so.”

“ _Do you think we can pull this off?”_

Gabriel tries not to allow himself to smile. “Maybe, but we’re going to need all the help we can get.” Before Dean can get carried away with that line of conversation, Gabriel decides to derail it—bring it back to what he and Castiel talked about earlier, during his first call. “So I guess you and baby Casi figured everything out?”

“ _Gabe—I. Okay. Yeah, yeah, I guess so. Don’t know why Sammy told him about the house though.”_

Something cold slithered down Gabriel’s spine. _The house._ Why would Dean— “The… the house?”

Dean is quiet. “ _The old Winchester house. You know, up the hill. At the old neighborhood?”_

“I… didn’t know the Winchesters owned a house at the old neighborhood.”

“ _Well, now you do. It’s—oh. Shit, yeah, coming! Hey, Gabe, wanna join us for dinner tonight? Apparently your brother doesn’t really trust you right now.”_

 _“_ Two minutes, Dean, you couldn’t have kept quiet?”

“ _You know even I can’t pull that off. I don’t know, Cas has a super empathy link with you or something. So, you coming?_ ”

He thinks of denying the invitation, of saying, _no, I want to be alone_ , but there’s… there’s something about Dean bringing up the _house_ that just makes him think twice. “Yeah, yeah. Be there in twenty.”

“ _Alright. See ya.”_

Gabriel almost drops his phone. He’s… he’s _shaking_ , from grief or  fear—pain—he isn’t sure, but that gut _feeling_ is getting stronger. He stands up, paces. Something’s up. Something’s brewing, and when shit goes down, it’s going to be _disastrous_.

He doesn’t know for sure if he wants to be relieved—it’s been a long time coming. This whole thing was a coil of spring just waiting to _snap_ , and it wouldn’t care who gets affected. He bites his nails.

_Tell him to early, and you take away all your chances of redemption. Tell him too late, and you kill everything and everyone you’ve ever cared for. You’re the pivotal cause in this, Gabe, I hope you don’t forget that._

“Why me?” he whispers, his voice shaking. “Why _me_ , Mary?”

He rubs at his face, trying to keep himself from breaking down. He promised Dean and his baby brother his presence at dinner—he doesn’t plan on disappointing. So he grabs his coat, his keys, and leaves his apartment, driving as fast—but as careful—as he dares towards Dean’s.

It’s only a short drive—he can probably walk if he wants—but he doesn’t plan on walking on snow and ice, thank you very much. Instead he lets himself into the lobby, going up to Dean’s floor.

He hesitates outside the door, hand poised to knock.

He can hear several voices on the other side: one that is familiar, that is _family_ ; another that he has associated with his family’s safety; a third that he registers as a kindred spirit, especially after the debacle that is the past few months.

Two more that are quickly becoming unhealthily familiar in this place where they don’t belong.

He squeezes his eyes and shakes his head. Knocks on the door. And waits.

“Gabriel!”

He looks up and plasters a grin when he sees his little brother at the door. He’s genuinely glad that it’s _him_ who answers the door, and he wraps his arms around the Omega when he jumps at him. “Hey, baby brother.”

Castiel pulls away and grins right back, though there are hints of worry and concern in his eyes when Gabriel meets them. He shakes his head infinitesimally—asking, _begging_ , Cas not to bring it up. He is aware he’s lying to Castiel, and he’s not ready to worsen that at the moment.

Thankfully, Cas understands and just steps away to let him in.

He sees Adam, on the floor, staring at him with an eyebrow cocked; Sam, by the couch with Kate, no doubt busy teasing his brother. And then he sees Dean emerge from the kitchen wearing an _apron_.

And Gabriel can’t help it—he snorts.

“ _Really_?” he asks, eyeing Dean head to toe. And then he turns to his baby brother, same expression on.

Cas shrugs—the action so nonchalant that Gabe wants to grab Dean and hug him and spin him around for causing this much relaxation to get to Cas without question—and smiles. “I’m hopeless in the kitchen, Gabe. And Dean likes cooking. A _lot_.”

“Okay, okay,” Dean mutters, “not everyone needs to know, Cas.”

Cas rolls his eyes. “Everyone’s going to know, anyway.”

Gabriel turns back to Dean in time to see _him_ roll his eyes and turn back to the kitchen. “Whatever, bitches. Prepare the table.”

 _He’s a sore loser_ , Sam mouths, and Adam and Cas both snicker.

 

Dinner turned out to be a fucking fanfare.

Gabriel grew up in a packed home as a child—his older sister, though modest and quiet and gentle, had a side to her that would probably give Adam Milligan’s spazziness and hyperactivity a run for his money. And then the twins came and everything went to utter _crap_ —it was back when he was very young, but he could still remember the destruction that was their home the first few months after Daddy brought the twins home—the _yelling_ and _begging_ and _crying_ —

And then he lived with his Aunt Dana and her kids—triplet Alphas, all his age. Put four teenage Alphas together in one house and—he tried not to think about it. To say the least, it was _bothersome_.

And then came Cas.

He admits though that Cas had been the perfect angel as a child—not too noisy, just shy enough to be modest, but he was attentive and polite and he _tried_.

Try as he might, though, he couldn’t remember things getting as bad as dinner at the Winchester table. The three _kids_ —there was no other term for how to call Dean, Sam and Adam when they’re together—all try to talk over one another _while_ talking to one another; Kate just keeps on reprimanding people and hissing ‘ _manners_ ’ into their ears; and (when they had arrived, much to Gabe’s surprise) Bobby Singer hit them all—Gabe, Cas, and Jessica (he was _certain_ she is dating Sam) included—upside the head while muttering ‘ _idjits_ ’. Ellen and Jo Harvelle come later than the rest of them, but that doesn’t stop them from joining the fanfare as well.

The night was good, and he couldn’t bring himself to regret the joy he feels even as he tries to dredge up thoughts of Kali and of her leaving because—because _you can’t taint genuine happiness, remember that. No one can take that away from you_.

He had ended up staying later than he expected—he couldn’t deny the invitation for coffee and a good marathon—due to the arrival of one Dr. Pamela Barnes, who had raised her eyebrow at the lot of them but thankfully kept her mouth shut.

Cas is already asleep when he finally gets up from the floor where he had plunked himself a few movies ago, and he leans down to kiss him on the forehead before patting Dean on the shoulder. Everyone else had gone home hours ago—Sam leaving with Jessica to ‘ _help her get home faster_ ’—and it was only Adam, who was asleep on the floor with his head on his older brother’s thigh, and Kate who were with them.

“You take care of my brother, alright?” he asked, looking straight at Dean and hoping that he sees what Gabriel _means_.

When Dean looks— _looks_ —at him, he knows he had been understood. He nods.

“Good night, Dean.”

“’Night, Gabe.”

 

**..--..**

 

He wakes up from another nightmare, and when he tries to look for Dean, he finds he’s in bed alone. He grabs onto Deans pillow and smashes his face against it, breathing in his mate’s scent as much as he could, trying to quell his panic.

It doesn’t work.

Actually, it makes things worse—

The _things_ he was dreaming about they were… they were centered around this scent. This scent, that should have been comforting and meaning nothing but love and safety and trust and home was—it was tainted by the images of… of _that monster_. It’s not—it isn’t what it was to him that evening. He’d dreamt it, it felt so _real—scented so real—_

_It’s cloying._

_There’s a scent that permeates the air that Castiel can’t keep off of his nose no matter how much he tries to cover it. It’s thick and it makes him want to gag and follow at the same time, and it’s making him scared and nervous and angry. He remembers only one thing else that could explain this scent, how it pervades the cloth covering his mouth and nose and how it seems to cling to the back of his throat until it’s not just a smell anymore but a_ taste _and something too close to a memory—_

_It’s burning flesh._

_To his horror, he could_ see _who’s burning._

 _Dean, he’s in there, in that room, tied to a chair and_ burning _and someone’s holding him back and whispering in his ear and he’s getting sick, more and more sick and he fights but it’s no use, because Dean looks up one last time, his whole body burnt to a crisp, black and dead, and he falls forward and Castiel can’t see anything beyond the orange and red heat of fire and he screams._

Castiel jumps out of bed and thankfully reaches the comfort room before he empties his dinner into the porcelain bowl. His forehead is clammy with sweat and he feels chills run up and down his spine, and he feels horrible and fucking tired of all this shit.

This wasn’t the first nightmare he’s ever had, no, far from it. He’s been having nightmares non-stop for the past two weeks, and Dean can’t really help because he leaves the bed before Castiel starts thrashing and groaning in his sleep. He just wants to rest, just wants to sleep. He just wants _peace_.

He remembers _him_ —that sleazy… ugly… fucker who has now successfully tainted his whole life. Even in death, he was making Castiel’s life a living hell—something he promised to do, back then, if Castiel ever decides to “go against me, because you’re mine, Castiel, you always will be. All those others, they’re gonna be someone else’s, and it’s all your fault. You’d do well to remember that. You can’t change that, not now, not ever, and you’re not going to try, got that? You’re stuck here, with me, with the rest of us, with the rest of _them_ , because even when you successfully leave, what you’ve done here is going to haunt you forever. You can’t change the fact that you’ve done all these terrible things, Castiel, and you can try to make it better by doing good, but what’s that going to do? Nothing. Nothing will change this.”

Castiel retches one more time and wipes his mouth before standing up on weak knees to brush his teeth. He made his decision when he killed that bastard—no, what he’s doing now isn’t going to change anything he’s done in the past, but at least he’s trying.

 _It’s not enough. It’s never going to be enough_.

He shakes his head, as if that will stop the voices at the back of his mind, and goes back into the room. When he looks around, he finds it almost impossible that he’s lived here for the past few months. Everything around him seems so… so _new_.

Did Dean’s bedside tables really differ in shade—his side a light green, Castiel’s darker? Was the bed really that big and comfortable-looking? Has there been that many books in that book case all this time?

Castiel finds that he doesn’t know.

He never really noticed all these things before, and he doesn’t know why he’s noticing them now. His hand goes up to cover the mating Mark on his neck, and the zing of sensation the touch sends down his spine makes him shiver. Was it a good thing or a bad thing? He still doesn’t know.

He loves Dean—he’s well aware and sure and certain of that, now, all he needs to do is _admit to it_ —but why is he still uncertain as to whether he likes the feeling of being mated or not? Why is the pressure of mating such a big thing to him, when he wanted it all along because it was Dean?

He climbs back into bed, on Dean’s side, and curls up under the comforter. The warmth of the fabric isn’t enough to warm him, and soon enough he is shivering under the mound. When he gets tired of the lack of reprieve, he gets out of bed and jumps into the shower—taking a quick, warm bath before getting into running gear. He’s probably going to freeze his nuts off outside, but running had always helped clear his mind before—he hopes it will work for him now.

He grabs his phone and headset before leaving the bedroom, a small smile gracing his face when he smells bacon and pancakes being cooked downstairs. Dean is undisturbed when he gets there, and he watches his mate bustle around the kitchen silently. Dean is humming a song that the finds familiar, but not familiar enough for the song to register automatically in his head. Instead of disturbing Dean, Castiel grabs a small piece of paper from the shelf and writes a note, leaving it on the coffee table before leaving the apartment.

The hallway was cooler than the inside, and he shivers—but he just adjusts the scarf around his neck and begins walking, taking the stairs all the way to the lobby as warm up. He greets the guard, and then he starts jogging.

Snow had fallen the night before, but there wasn’t a thick carpet. It’s probably too early for that, he muses, as he starts speeding up and goes towards the park he usually stops at to rest. This early in the morning Seraph seems to be just a normal place—sleepy pedestrians were walking on sidewalks on their way towards wherever they were working, the café at the corner was just opening for the day—

His knowledge of the reality of the place, though, kept him from truly appreciating the aesthetic. He commends whoever retouched the whole place, though. There are professional make-up artists around the world, but they were nothing to who made this place to look like it was just… just this normal executive division big enough to be a city, with its own political hierarchy like it’s its own fucking _world_.

Castiel shakes his head, chastising himself because he’s supposed to be running to clear his head, not to clutter it much worse. He huffs and cranks up the volume to his music and speeds up—his steps becoming more and more harsh and heavy. It’s effective, though, it clears his head and relaxes him from the nightmare of the night before.

 He’s a bit more tired when he finally reaches the park—and he chastises himself once more for not running more regularly anymore. He takes off his headset, grabs the bottle he put in his pocket and drinks the water down in less than four gulps. When he straightens up, he sees a few dog walkers milling around, dogs running around them in frolic delight.

One particular dog runs towards him and he laughs, kneeling so they were level with each other before it reaches him. The dog barks, and Castiel laughs again before reaching up and scratching the big puppy behind the ears.

“Hale!” he hears, and he looks up to see a young girl running towards him, a leash in her hands. “Oh, god, you stupid _puppy_.”

He would have been worried with her words if not for the affectionate tone in her voice as she reaches him and the dog. He greets her with a small smile before going back to playing with the dog.

“Sorry for him,” she says, running her hand through her short hair. “I’m James,” she says, and Castiel looks up sharply— _James, dying, bleeding, whispering, pleading for him to listen. “He’s a good man, Cas, believe me, you be good. Please take care, Cas—”_

“Hey?”

Castiel shakes his head, as if hat would clear his mind from the image of his brother dying.

“Sorry, should I have given a… a _girl’s_ name?” James asks, looking so uncertain of him—herself—that Castiel suddenly felt guilty.

“No, no,” Castiel says, shaking head. “It’s alright, it’s your choice it’s just—”

“…you lost someone,” she says quietly, crouching beside Castiel to play with Hale. “Someone named James, I suppose?”

Castiel looks at her again in surprise—is he really that transparent? And she laughs.

“I just—I just moved here,” she begins hesitantly. “My mom can’t take it. My little brother—he disappeared a few months back, and then. The police says he’s probably… you know. But—it’s getting worse, these Collectors. They’re—they kidnapped an _eleven year old_. Not even old enough to present. What the hell?”

She stops, and Castiel can see that she’s shaking, so he puts a hand on her knee to make it look as if _he’s_ in any place better. “Your little brother was eleven?”

“Just turned twelve, last week,” she mutters, and then she sniffles. Hale whimpers and pushes his nose against her collarbone, and she giggles, but the sound is dry and empty. “I’m sorry, I didn’t mean to make this about me.”

“That’s alright. But it’s true. I… my brother, James,” Castiel says, and he kicks himself because it’s never good to open up to strangers. Something about James, though, something about her story—it’s… it’s _compelling_ him to talk. “Collectors… they took your brother?”

James nodded. “I’m—I don’t know how they got their hands on him. I mean, okay, so he was at the clinic—he’s ADHD—and then when I went to pick him up, his nurse said that a man in a suit came to pick him up a few minutes earlier. He said he was our dad. My dad’s _dead_.” She sniffles, and Castiel is horrified to see a tear drop from her eyes and she scrambles to wipe it away. “Shit, I’m sorry.”

“It’s—it’s okay.” His heart is pounding in his head, and he suddenly doesn’t know what to think. “If—if it’s not too insensitive to ask, would you mind telling me what happened?”

James looks at Castiel, and something in his face must have given a part of Castiel away because she just nods and sits on the ground—Hale immediately curling on her lap. Castiel joins her and sits down as well, noting absently that she’s just probably sixteen, or seventeen. Still in the age of Collector targets, but apparently, Collectors have begun taking kids younger than their normal range.

Castiel should know.

He shivers, and it has nothing to do with the winter chill in the air.

“So, I’ve already said that Caleb—my baby brother—goes to therapy for ADHD, right, and that day I was supposed to pick him up because I was off school that day but mom had work. So… so I get there, my normal time—normal routine, whenever mom or I pick up Cal it’s always the same time, but this lady, she comes up to me and tells me that Cal had already been picked up and I asked her ‘why’ because my mom was at work and I obviously just got there from a day out and then she looks at me and then she tells me that my _dad_ picked Cal up and I knew something was wrong because my dad was dead. He has been since Cal was two years old—probably too young to remember him, and he never asks where daddy is.

“So I tell her this, and then she gets this look on her face like she can’t believe me and she says the guy showed credentials. So—so you have to log your kid in and log them out before you leave, right? So I go and check the log and… and she was right. It was my dad who picked Caleb up.

“Or someone pretending to be my dad.”

She pauses here, and bites her lip and locks her jaw the same way Castiel had seen all three Winchester brothers do all those months ago when they’re trying to stop themselves from crying or sobbing or making a distressed noise. Castiel is fully cold now, but he stops his body from shivering, mostly because he can’t—he’s frozen, he can’t move, he doesn’t know _how to._ He doesn’t know why he asked James to tell this story in the first place, _can’t remember why_.

“I—I check the surveillance footage and I see this—this dude in nice clothes, he’s wearing this monkey suit that my dad would have worn on a normal day like that one, and then I wasn’t surprised that the nurse fell for the ruse anymore. I mean, neither my mom nor I talked to the place about my dad being dead, so they probably think it’s a family thing, and then.

“It’s Caleb, in the video. He was asleep, and the guy was carrying him. That’s not _normal_. Caleb doesn’t sleep when he’s outside the house, whatever we do, and the clinic knows that—it’s his prognosis, it’s why he was in therapy in the first place—and then I pointed that out so they called the police and…

“And now they’re saying my brother’s probably… probably dead. Because the Collectors—we know they’re Collectors, now, because my baby brother isn’t the first case like this—they don’t let kids _go_. I’m—I—sorry,” she says, and she sobs, and Castiel gathers her numbly into his arms and hold her against his chest.

An eleven year old boy, not nearly old enough to be in puberty, kidnapped by Collectors. He could have presented as an Alpha, but—why was he kidnapped? What if he presented as Alpha, Collectors had no use for Alphas! That’s why they kidnapped kids that are in the cusp of puberty, because they were the useful ones, because they were the ones easier _sold_ unless—

_You’re mine, Castiel, you always will be. All those others, they’re gonna be someone else’s, and it’s all your fault._

For some reason, it’s _his_ voice that rings in Castiel’s head, because—because what if the kids weren’t being sold? _Then what are they being used for?_ What if they were being used by the Collectors themselves? _As sex slaves? That doesn’t explain the possible Alpha presenting!_ What if—

What if they’re being used like Castiel had been.

He shivers and bites back a sob, covering it with a cough when Hale shoves his wet nose between his face and James’s hair. The young girl has stopped sobbing now, and she pulls away from him. Her smile is sad when Castiel sees it. “I never got your name.”

“I’m—Castiel. It’s a pleasure to meet you, James.”

“Yeah—yeah, you, too.” James sniffles once more before standing and calling Hale, the both of them walking away from Castiel, who sits on the frozen ground for a few more moments before standing up too and jogging home.

Castiel has an uneasy feeling about the whole encounter with James, and when he reaches home—he’s distracted, and he kisses Dean and eats breakfast and showers—before he sits on the computer and searches for her in the Seraph database.

That’s the advantage of being a Handler—he has unlimited access to all of Seraph’s civilians’ files, because Handlers are the ones who scout for prospect fledglings.

He searches for James—and the most recent one is one called James Milton, listed Alpha, male; identifies female. Castiel stares.

Why does that name sound so familiar?

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I _can't_ really promise anything, but I'm guessing I could put up about two, three chapters before I have to leave home again, but I'll try my best to do so. I want this part of the 'verse done so I can get started on the others. I gotta say, though, the plot's gonna get a little heavy. Ha.
> 
> It's really pretty useless right now, I'm just reblogging some random stuff out there, but it would be cool if you checked out my Tumblr ~~or send me prompts at my new writer's blog hihi where I plan on putting up my other writing, too.~~ **i lost this acct lmfao**
> 
>  **2017:** u used to call this 'free time' lmao u innocent lil thing


	9. Chapter 9

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Good morning, gentleman,” Gwen Campbell answers drily, and suddenly Gabe is sure she’s just finished talking with Dean. He gulps. “I assume you already know this isn’t a social call.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-warheit.tumblr.com)

Dean’s gotta admit, it was great to know Cas is getting out of the house for a breather—he probably needs it, every now and then—but he’s worried by the amount of distress and panic scents in the bedroom when he gets there to change after cooking breakfast.

The note read, _Out for a run, be back in a while –C_ and it didn’t indicate _any_ distress at all, but what if Cas wants to run from something? Dean hasn’t really been around when he’s asleep for a while, and he knows that Cas’s nightmares haven’t stopped at all, but what if… what if they’re getting _worse_?

He sits in the living room, staring at the note, before a voice in his head laughs at him and tells him he’s over thinking things again. He couldn’t do anything, though, it was part of his nature.

He’s surprised he didn’t blame himself off the bat.

Still, he waits for Cas—he’s been out for about half an hour, now, and he should be back in a bit.

 

Dean is wrong.

 

Cas comes back one hour and fifteen minutes after he finds the note and who knows how long that was since Cas left—he scents awesome, though, like Cas and winter and Christmas, but there’s hints of something else—a—

“Is that a _dog_?” Dean asks, nose scrunching in disgust, pulling away after kissing Cas in greeting.

“Dog walkers at the park, one of them approached me,” Cas answers vacantly as he walks to the sink and washes his hand.

“You played with a dog?”

“And talked to his owner.”

“Is that why you smell like Alpha stench?” (No, Dean wasn’t jealous, seriously, he was just curious. Besides, this Alpha smells like a baby, it’s weird.)

“Probably, didn’t really scent her.”

“Are you alright?”

“I’m sweaty and hungry.”

“You’re distracted.”

“It’s cold outside.”

“Cas?”

Cas doesn’t answer because he’s eating, but he still has that vacant look in his eye that starts to worry Dean.

“Babe? Did something happen?”

“No.”

“You’re worrying me.”

“I’m fine. I’m taking a shower.”

And then he walks out.

Dean watches, worried and fascinated at the same time, and he bites his lip. Maybe it _is_ his fault? He tries to think back. _When was the last time we had sex?_

He blinks.

One time.

That _one time_ —“Fuck.”

He laughs at himself and shakes his head, going to the bedroom and smiling when he sees Cas on the bed, laptop open and eyes glued to the screen.

“Got a job?”

“No.”

“Are you going to talk to me?”

“I am.”

“This is barely what I have in mind when I think conversation.”

“We are conversing.”

“You sound like a robot.”

“Okay.”

“Cas.”

“Yes, Dean?”

Dean doesn’t talk, and Cas’s eyes stay trained on the screen of his laptop. He grins. “Let’s have sex.”

“Later.”

“Cas,” he whines.

“ _Later_ , Dean Winchester.”

Dean grins.

He’s gonna get laid!

 

He falls into the bed beside Cas, looking at the screen, surprised when Cas doesn’t pull the screen away from her. On it reads ‘James Milton’—Dean feels a stirring of guilt and grief in his gut but the picture is of a young girl—auburn hair, brown eyes, high nose. She’s… _not_ familiar at all.

“…friend of yours?” Dean asks quietly, suddenly feeling cold because _what the hell happened to Cas_ and _was I just celebrating because I was about to get laid? What the fuck, Dean._

Cas shakes his head, Dean sees in his peripheral vision, still staring at the page on the screen. And then he clicks on ‘family’—a list of just four people coming out.

_Annibeth Milton – Mother_

_Inias Brady – Milton – Father (+)_

_Hailey Milton – Sister (+)_

_~~Caleb Milton – Brother~~ _ ~~~~

He feels something cold and dreadful spill down his spine at reading the last name, crossed out as if he wasn’t really there, not really dead but—

“Missing?” he says softly, turning to look at Cas but his mate looks—he looks like he’s been punched, and Dean gets worried _even more_ when Cas doesn’t react when he pulls the laptop away. He gathers Cas in his arms and pulls him closer, pressing the Omega’s face into his neck and hoping— _praying_ , when he’s never been much of a faithful man—that it is enough to calm him down.

“I have to talk to Gabe,” Cas whispers, and his voice is shaking but he isn’t so Dean nods and lets him go, lets him grab the phone from the bedside table before climbing back into Dean’s lap, letting Dean wrap his arms around him.

They only have to wait for a few minutes before Gabe answers his phone.

Dean can’t hear Gabe’s side of the conversation, but what he hears from Cas’s is enough to make him tense and nervous and—honestly?—a little bit scared.

“Gabe? I—I’m okay, I think. No. No. No. Yes. Gabe—” He pauses, probably to listen to Gabe’s answer. It’s making Dean nervous. The—my nightmares? They—they're back. It's. Not getting better.”

It felt like ice water slithering down Dean’s spine, this conversation. All he wants is to stop it, to end it, and to go back to the fairytale he and Cas and his family have woven, because this reality check made him feel sick.

 _It’s just a fairytale,_ Dean Jr. mocked him. _It was never true, you fucking idiot. Of course it isn’t true—what, you think something like you deserves a good life? Nope, no you don’t. You haven’t even realized that your mate is having_ nightmares _, you fucktard_.

He’d been so immersed in his own thoughts that he doesn’t even realize Cas is off of him until he feels a blast of cold on his neck. He panics—“Cas? Where are you going?”—as Cas leaves the bedroom and goes outside.

“I’ll be fine, Dean.”

 _That doesn’t answer my question,_ “Cas?”

But Cas doesn’t answer. He hears the guest room door close and he feels cold, and rejected, and something in the back of his mind laughs and laughs and laughs.

He probably deserves this. Something was bothering his mate, and he can’t believe the only thing he was thinking of was getting _laid_. Jesus Christ, he’d be surprised if Cas came back to him anytime soon. He’s probably asking Gabe to help him move back to his apartment.

 _Christ_.

His self-loathing streak is broken by his phone ringing and, when he checks, he feels cold for a whole nother reason—it’s Seraph.

Which means, in no certain terms, he’s in a mission again.

He looks at the door, longing for the presence of his mate—and, once again, why hasn’t he filed for a transfer to the Flight?—but decides, _fuck it_. He answers and the call and holds the phone against his ear.

“Winchester,” he drawls with confidence he isn’t really feeling.

“Great to hear from you,” Gwen’s chipper voice answers, and it makes Dean feel marginally better to hear his cousin’s voice. After all, he hasn’t really seen Gwen much the past few months—once or twice, and then that dinner, but aside from that—nada. It made him feel guilty for not going to see her more often, even if it meant going to that dreaded building and risking seeing John Winchester again because, seriously? Seeing his cousins would have been worth it, anyway.

“I guess I’m needed, aren’t I?” he snorts, shaking his head as if Gwen could see him in his room. He lies down and sighs, almost a disturbing mirror of that night months ago when he was called for in a briefing for the mission that has literally changed his life.

And, oh, he has no idea.

“You are, actually,” Gwen says, and her voice is somber and it makes Dean feel suddenly defensive. “I gotta say, though, this mission’s a bit—”

“A bit…?” He waits, because if it’s Gwen, then there’s something seriously going on with whatever’s about to happen. He doesn’t know if he wants to know what it is or not—sometimes, ignorance is bliss.

_Until it strangles you._

“Cohen and Pellegrino are on it. You’re going, three of you, with Novak—not your mate, the other Novak—and.”

He freezes at her hesitation.

“Your dad.”

_Well, shit._

 

**..--..**

 

Gabriel can’t seem to move after the phone call with Cas. It’s—it was nerve-wracking, and scary, and it angered him like _fuck_ , Cas _, do you have to ask those questions_? But something about his tone, about how he listed down those names, made him hesitate. He eyes the laptop on his bed, wondering if it’s a good idea or not, before sighing and shaking his head.

Whatever this is, it’s something major—big enough for Cas to dig old graves, almost literally. If it’s something that would help him finally reach closure about what happened to him—what was done to him—as a youngster, then he’s willing to risk it.

He loves his little brother enough.

He gets startled out of his reverie by his phone ringing, though, and when he looks at the caller, he pales. There are only two reasons he could be calling Gabriel.

One, when it’s time.

And two, when it’s too late.

He hopes it isn’t too late, because if it is, it’s going to be his fault, _over again_ , just like it had been back then, because if it wasn’t for him, then—

“Hello?”

“Gabriel,” the voice on the other side of the line says, and Gabe wants to cry because that _voice_ , that voice, it made him feel safe and loved and complete. “Something’s brewing again, and I fear it’s a repeat of what happened more than two decades ago.”

Gabe freezes.

“It’s almost time. I regret that you are burdened with this responsibility, but we have no choice but to use you as the conduit towards the boy. We are leaving on a mission. You will be briefed in a few minutes. You have six days to let him know.”

Gabe swallows, his dry throat clicking and making him cringe. “Okay,” he breathes, and then clears his throat. “Okay,” he says again.

“Good. I’ll see you soon, little brother.”

“I—Yes. See you.”

Gabe hangs up first, just so he wouldn’t have to hear _him_ hang up. He takes a deep breath and goes for the laptop, this time decided. He opens the database, and looks for a name he hasn’t dared search for in the past twenty years for fear that it would jump at him and make him want to die all over again.

 _Anna Milton_.

He sees less than a hundred results, most of them articles of what has been dubbed as “The Seraph Incident”, most of _those_ reports he has made when he was in high school, too young to understand that he could understand the facets of that time better if he _entered_.

He hesitates, and then shakes his head.

 _Annibeth Milton_.

There’s only one result that comes out—her database entry in the Seraph residency. And he feels like his heart—brain— _universe_ stops.

She has jet black hair, skin tanned with freckles high lighting her nose and cheeks. Her eyes are brown, but Gabriel will never, _ever_ forget that mole on her cheek—he’d been so fascinated by it as a child. He couldn’t believe it.

She was mated. _Inias Brady_.

They have three kids.

 _Hailey_ , who was dead. It made Gabe want to drop to his knees and weep all over again, because it wasn’t fair. Hailey shouldn’t be dead, she seems too young to be dead. _1998 – 2010._ Too young to be dead.

_What do you know about being too young to be dead? Someone tried to kill you when you were ten!_

_James_ , who was still alive, and Gabe’s breath hitched in his throat. _Identifies female. Born, 1998_ – Hailey’s twin.

This time he let out a sob,

 _Caleb,_ whose name was crossed out, not put on under death because— _2003_. Too young to present, he couldn’t be kidnapped, could he?

 _Cas was taken before he turned ten, what do you mean he_ couldn’t _be kidnapped? God just knows what those sick fucks use them for._

He snaps the laptop shut, mind reeling and moving too fast for him to comprehend each and every thought that was going on in his head. Things were moving, quite quickly, and it’s certainly only a matter of time for shit to hit the fan.

He’d _hate_ to be in the middle of things when that happens, but, staring at the laptop—unassuming, useless, closed—on his bed, he knows he has no choice but to stay if he wants any chance at all for the people he cares about to get out of it alive, whole, complete.

There’s a chance, a small sliver, but it’s a _chance_ , something they can use to their advantage. And it’s up to him to give it to everyone else.

He scrubs his face with his hands, and stares at his phone, waiting for it to ring.

Six minutes later, it did.

“Novak,” he answers as a greeting, because with Lucifer Pellegrino’s secretary you’re never really sure if you want to be annoyed or awed.

“Good morning, gentleman,” Gwen Campbell answers drily, and suddenly Gabe is _sure_ she’s just finished talking with Dean. He gulps. “I assume you already know this isn’t a social call.”

He smirks. “I’m never really sure when it’s you, sugar,” he flirts hollowly, feeling something inside him break at the thought of Kali and never getting to do this again. _God_ , it hurts just to think about her—what when she really, seriously, permanently leaves? He feels like he’s never going to recover.

“We have an assignment for you,” she says after a pause, and her hesitation piques Gabe’s interest. Being the secretary to Seraph’s Vice President probably got her more than enough information to do her job well, but with Dean Winchester as your cousin (and John Winchester the uncle), there’s bound to be some things you hear and read that make you question your work ethics. “It… is… _just_ a recon mission,” she adds haltingly, and then, as if something was chasing the words down her throat, she adds, “but Dean and Cohen and Pellegrino and _John Winchester_ are with.”

And suddenly he understands her hesitation and—fear? Was she scared?

Because somewhere in his mind, he understands what this could mean—a mission with both heads of Seraph, one of its most notorious agents, and one of its most loyal members—that’s something big. Add in someone who knows the entire _history_ of why it would be?

Something’s about to blow up.

It’s a recon mission, though, so Gabriel surmises they’re not about to, but they’re—what? Going to find out if it’s worth it? Making an excuse for the whole “letting the cat out of the bag” shit? He could have done that in the past how many weeks.

He takes a deep breath, and nods.

“Okay. I suppose I’m going to be further briefed tomorrow?”

“You’re—actually going tomorrow,” Gwen answers, and Gabriel stills, because that’s impossible. That goes against fucking protocol, they’re supposed to be given a whole 24 hours to be briefed! To understand the risks! And—

“There’s nothing to be briefed about, is there?” Gabriel asks quietly, his voice gone deadly quiet. In the back of his mind he hears someone—a voice cultivated by Cas, most definitely—say it isn’t fair for him to be taking this out on innocent little Gwen Campbell. “There are only two reasons why there should be no briefing and one is—”

“That there’s no chance of survival,” Gwen finishes, her voice frigid and Gabriel suddenly remembers that it’s her _cousin_ at risk here, too. She probably doesn’t give a fuck about her uncle, but Dean? Dean, Castiel’s mate? What kind of fucked up life are they leading? “It’s a _recon_ mission, Gabe, it’s only supposed to be dangerous if you engage. Which you won’t. There’s nothing to be briefed about because it needs to be done as soon as possible and you’ll be briefed on your way there. _You won’t be engaging_.”

He lets out a sigh of relief and smiles wryly. “Sorry, Miss Campbell. Didn’t mean to sound so—”

“—Cynical? That’s alright. We’ve all been there.” She hesitates. “Something big’s about to happen, isn’t there.”

He, too, gives pause, and then gives in to what he suddenly feels—a strange sense of protectiveness. “Yes, and we’re going to be right in the middle of it. Gwen—I hope you forgive my being forward but—I think the best thing to do right now is to go. It’s your best chance.”

“And, what? Leave my cousins to deal with themselves? Hell no. They’ve taken care of me when nobody did. Not even my own brothers. It’s time I give back the favor. I’ll do what I can, when I can.”

He smiles, but this time it’s more heartfelt and genuine. “That’s what family’s for, huh?”

“ _Exactly._ ”

“Okay, miss Campbell. What to do next?”

“Pack up for at least a week, that’s all. Bring your gear, all favored weapons. You can bring your personal effects, but please be certain to send scrambled waves. We do _not_ want to ping on anyone’s radars.”

“Alright, gotcha. Have a good day, Miss Campbell.”

She sighs. He chuckles. “I think a good _anything_ would be a miracle in our line of work, Mister Novak. Enjoy the rest of yours.”

She hangs up, and Gabriel stares at the phone for a good six or so minutes before standing, chucking the phone on the bed and glancing out the window. It’s a great day outside—all sunshine and cool wind, even in winter. There hasn’t been much snow yet, and he hopes it won’t be a blizzard tomorrow as he begins to grab for his stuff and fold them into a backpack.

His phone rings again, showing Castiel as the caller, but he ignores it and lets it go to voicemail, so he’s there to hear the message.

“ _Are you busy? Please call me as soon as you get this. Dean just told me about the mission—he’s worried and. Please, just call?”_

He feels guilt churning in his gut, but he ignores it in favor of stuffing more clothes into his bag, adding more essentials and needed things. Only once he’s satisfied with all the items he has in his bag does he pause to consider call his little brother.

He wonders what they would talk about, though—he feels they’ve had enough of conversation for a whole _century_ , what with Cas basically shooting down everything that’s driven Gabriel all these years with a six minute phone call about his _sister_. But he hesitates.

What if… what if these are _signs_? Shit like this turned up on _that_ particular mission, when he went in for the rescue only to find out that the head was _dead_ , killed by his own ‘pet’. Signs like Naomi Cartwright naming her nephew as her protégée. Like John Winchester disappearing for no apparent reason. For an investigation about a decade old sudden death.

And then things about a mission that’s been going for _years_ suddenly die down?

There was something going on back then, Gabriel is sure things are going to happen now.

He’s not excited, because he’s pretty sure he knows what it’s going to be about this time. He’s been part of it his whole life—it’s carved who he chose to _be_.

 _Too much drama,_ he thinks, as he ignores the phone on his bed and goes instead to the kitchen, to the untouched stash of alcohol he keeps there in case of company. _Well, I won’t be expecting company tonight_. He curses the schedule as he twists the cap open and takes a gulp, because he can’t get drunk tonight, not with leaving for a mission tomorrow. He doesn’t want to be incapacitated in case they _have_ to engage.

It’s strange though, not getting the command _green_ —the command to engage if necessary. The only thing Gwen Campbell told him was that they weren’t _supposed_ to, which would mean they have to avoid any confrontation with whoever they’re working on, and in case of any contact, they’d have to back down and cease immediately.

There were—he cuts himself from the thought, because this whole thing is making no sense the longer he thinks about it. In his years in Seraph he’s learnt the _rules_ , but all those are getting thrown out the window right now, and he’d just have to deal if he wants to survive.

He takes another long, hard pull of alcohol. Once more he regrets that he can’t get black-out drunk, sure he’s going to get shit for it the following morning. He checks the bottle in his hand, mind already woozy, and chuckles bitterly when he sees he _might_ have drunk more than half the contents already. He lets the bottle drop to the carpet and he gathers his legs closer, pressing his eyes to his knees like he used to do when he was a child.

Sometimes he feels like he’s still a child, forced to grow up far too fast without anything or anyone to give him the choice of _I don’t want to_. Everything was taken from everyone he knew when he was younger, and it seems like it’s coming back to do it again—ravage their lives once more. This time, he wonders idly, _would this time be it? Would they finish what they weren’t able to accomplish back then_?

He sighs.

He’s never thought of that time—the ‘Before’ and the ‘During’—this much his whole life since it’s happened, because it always turns out like this— _nothing_ happens at all. There’s no closure. There’s no answers to the questions a heart broken child screams to the world. There’s no fixing what is not broken. And sometimes Gabriel fears there never will be.

Too much thinking is making his alcohol induced haze worse, and he decides—for some stupid reason—to spend the rest of the morning outside, walking. He brushes his teeth before he leaves, gets out, and starts walking around idly. It’s not until he reaches the old neighborhood does he realize he _hasn’t_ been walking idly at all.

 _Fuck this shit,_ he thinks bitterly. _Fuck this place, fuck my life, fuck everyone who made all that shit possible in the first place._ He turns down the road, jumping over the barricade that keeps vehicles from entering Main Avenue, the main street. He takes a deep breath, buries his hands deeper into his pocket, and breathes out. He watches, fascinated, as the steam of his breath curls up into the crisp late morning sky.

He turns one familiar street and keeps walking until he reaches the old school, jumping over the chain link fence before landing and almost slipping on a sheet of ice—and his slight drunkenness. He doesn’t know why he’s here. All he knows is that he wants to see the place one more time before he has to leave for a mission.

He’s prepared for a great grand speech about being sure it’s not going to be his last mission anyway, but what he isn’t prepared for is what he walks into: John Winchester.

 

He’s quiet, he’s sure John hasn’t detected his presence yet, and he could probably walk away right this instant. But something stops him from doing so. Maybe because he’s standing right by the doorway he wanted to go through, too.

“I gotta say,” he drawled instead, watching blankly as John tensed and slowly turned to face him, “I wasn’t expecting the great John Winchester to be a sentimental bastard.”

John Winchester’s eyes—hazel, familiar and warm on his son’s face but cold and downright _terrifying_ on his own—seemed dull and lifeless when they met Gabriel’s own, and it made the younger Alpha shiver. He took a surreptitious step back, body automatically going for the fighting stance, before he registers that John Winchester is smiling.

“Neither do my children, I suppose,” he says, his voice—smooth and powerful, when talking about a mission or a target or a victim—was now devoid of any other emotion but sadness and longing, especially when he said the word _children_. “What do you think of our chances to survive tomorrow, Gabriel Novak?”

He tenses. “Very high, I _suppose_ ,” Gabriel says tersely, slightly mocking the other, older Alpha’s earlier words. “Our instructions are clear, we are not to engage under any circumstance.”

John’s head cocks to one side, and Gabriel would have thought it reminds him of his baby brother except this action seems… it seems _strange_ on John Winchester, in his tailored suit and black scarf and cold eyes. “I think you know why we’re being sent to this mission,” he says. “You, me. Michael, Lucifer— _Dean_. Or you at least have an inkling of what this mission entails.”

Gabriel shakes his head, because a) he doesn’t, b) well, he _does_ , but c) he refuses to believe it.

“What’s the point in not believing it, Gabby?” John asks, and suddenly he looks and sounds tired as he calls Gabriel by the childhood nickname no one has called him in _decades_. “You and I know that it isn’t just a coincidence that both Mike and Luke want in on this. This isn’t some test to see if Dean is compatible for recon mission—the whole of _Seraph_ knows he is—this is a test drive of Dean _himself_.”

“But no one knows how it works, yet,” Gabriel says tightly, suddenly fearing for Dean, for his little brother. For the rest of his fucked up little world. “ _You_ don’t know how it works. No one does.”

“Mary did,” John says softly, and his eyes stray to the classroom behind him. “She did, and I know that somewhere out there, someone else does, too.”

Gabriel gulps. “What do you mean?”

“I have no illusions as to the relationship between my mate and Michael. I know they were as tight as you could be with one almost a prisoner in her own home. And I know how close she was to your sister, and in association, to you. I don’t want to know how it works, Gabriel, but does that mean I have to, to make it?”

Something cold and hot at the same time slivers down Gabriel’s spine, and suddenly—all his hatred for this man, all his anger, _everything_ , it simmered down to one single thing: pity.

And suddenly he is realizing something that he should have, years before, because it’s just as important to him as it is to this man and his family and what happened to it and what it means to their future. It’s not this man’s fault. He was caught in the crossfire, caught between saving his mate and saving what little of the life he had left for her and their children to have.

He just—

He’s suddenly so very, very tired.

When he looks back up, John’s smile is fatherly and sad, and Gabriel feels it in the deep of his bones, how John Winchester is feeling, how he must have been feeling.

Gabriel shakes his head.

 

**..--..**

 

“With _Winchester_?”

“Yes, with no one else but John Winchester. Why can’t you believe it when I’m the one talking?”

“But—”

“It’s been months. I need to do something. This is—it seems cowardly, but maybe… maybe I need a break from the good life, get a shot of reality. It’s gon’ do me good, kid.”

“I really don’t believe you. I _can’t_ , and I won’t.”

“Your loss, then. You won’t be hearing from me for a week or so. Unless I remember to bring a phone, which, you know. I might not.”

“ _That sudden_?”

“We leave tomorrow.”

“Oh hell. No. Don’t—please?”

“Sorry.”

 

**..--..**

 

Sam opened his eyes, looking down at his arm. He had just administered another shot, not really sure if the effects he’s feeling are due to the medication or the affliction itself. He sighs, and then turns to fix up his things on the bed. He had invited Jess over for the day, but she had chosen to stay with her parents and Sam understood because it was her first day of vacation from working at the hospital.

He is awfully proud of her, and though they’re not mated, the thought of being so sends pleasant chills down his spine and makes him want to more than anything. Adam had just confided to him his plans for the near future, and though it makes Sam nervous—especially thinking what they have to actually do—it also makes him happy that his little brother wants something for himself in his life.

Sam does, too, and at twenty-four, he believes it’s his right to start working toward it.

He almost drops his box—Castiel’s, but it _is_ his now—when his phone vibrates loudly from the surface of his bedside table, the screen flashing is brother’s name. He frowns, suddenly worried again. Has something come up?

“Hello?” he answers, cringing at the worried tone of his voice. “Dean? Is something wrong?”

“ _Why is something always wrong when I call?_ ” Dean asks back, and it relieves Sam because if he’s being an asshole then that means it isn’t as bad as he imagined things to be.

“It’s just that it usually is,” Sam says flatly, sitting on his bed and putting the box of Instalthread aside for later use. “What’s up, jerk?”

“ _Well, bitch, I’m just calling to let you know I have a mission coming up. We leave tomorrow. Probably back at the end of this week, early next week tops_.”

“And you’re only telling me now?!”

“ _I just got off the call with Gwen!”_

“Well… I don’t like how close to Christmas it is, but I’m sure it’s going to be good for you, right? You haven’t been to a mission in two months.”

“ _Yeah, since I got back on October. And, yes, it’s going to be good for me. I just wanted to call ‘coz Adam wants to go out for lunch, just the three of us, before I have to go off again. No date with Jess today?_ ”

Sam blushes at his brother’s bluntness before shaking his head, chastising himself silently when he remembers he’s on the phone and the person he’s conversing with can’t actually see him. So he says, “Yeah, sure. Pick me up in…” he checks the clock, see’s it’s almost eleven. “One hour?”

“ _Yep, be there soon. See ya, bitch.”_

He rolls his eyes at his brother’s crudeness. “Jerk.”

He hangs up, getting off his bed to shower for lunch with his brothers. It’s only then that he realizes he’s never really had that much time to spend with just the two of them, always having either Kate or Cas around whenever they do something. He smiles at the thought of finally having just his brothers around for the first time in _years_.

He refuses to think of when the last time was, because this is about the present, not holding grudges about the past that they didn’t get to have. At least they get to have something now, unlike so many other people who don’t.

After his shower—he admits to himself he might have taken a little too long thinking—he enters his room again to change, his eyes drifting to a box at the bottom of his closet. He hesitates, and then throws on a random outfit and brings the box out. It had been given to him the day he turned eighteen, the day he finally got to choose where he was applying to.

As a Beta, he didn’t really get much of a choice. It was either the Flight or the Techs for him, but for some reason, whoever was heading the recruitment for Flight Betas had this bright idea that Sam was for them. Sam opened the lid of the box and stared at the dark fabric within.

This would have been his uniform, had he chosen to apply to the Flight, but right on the day of application, he had contracted a bad case of pneumonia. Needless to say he lost his only offer to be in “active military service”. It’s not like it’s such a big loss. He was never a fan of being on field. Contrary to what his father seems to believe, he actually likes his job. There is actual dignity in what he does, too—he makes sure that nothing fucks up when those on field engage.

He makes sure that everyone’s communication paths are clear. He makes sure that everyone knows what’s up with everything. There’s _something worthwhile in being a Tech_. He loves his father—obligation or no—he’s still family. But the way he sometimes makes him feel—

He can only imagine how that conversation would have gone down with Adam had Dean not intervened when the kid entered high school.

John being John Winchester, he had wanted Kate and Adam to move into Seraph, for Adam to be taken in as a Fledgling, to at least train to be a Tech as well. But Dean had put his foot down and refused, and Sam still isn’t sure how that fight went down, but he’s thankful his little brother is not stuck with the same life he is.

He closes the box and slides it under his bed, making a mental note to put it back in the closet later. And then he grabs his phone and shoots a text to Jess, suddenly feeling like the puppy his family had always claimed him to be.

He grins at his screen when Jessica Moore replies.

* * *

 

<11:26 AM>  
Excited?

 

<11:27>  
R u kidng? Of cors I m!  
<Sent>

You’re like this little puppy.  
Haha.

Not u 2!!  
<Sent>

<11:28>  
Why? Not the only one  
calling you a puppy?

<11:29>  
No. Evry1 does. Its  
disconcerting like u  
r ol talkng 2 each odr  
<Sent>

Well… we could be.  
You’re never know.

Jesssssssss  
<Sent>

<11:31>  
I could imagine you  
whining. Haha. It would  
be cute.

<11:32>  
Pls remnd me nt 2  
let u hang out wd my  
bros. C ya. Jerk s here  
<Sent>

Whatever, Sam. See you.

* * *

 

He grins at his phone one more time before turning it off—polite company, his brother raised him well—and slipping it into his phone. Only a certain command dialed before calling his number would allow a call to get through when it’s been deliberately turned off, which would signal an emergency, which he hopes doesn’t happen today of all days.

He goes outside to greet Dean, and they walk down together towards the car where Adam was already waiting at the backseat. He grins at his baby brother and ruffles his hair before getting into the car, and off they go for a lunch among brothers.

“I’m allowed to drink alcohol, right?” Adam asks suddenly, sounding hopeful and Sam glances at Dean, who glances back at him.

Contrary to common belief, Dean _can_ raise kids properly. Sometimes Sam just needs to be there to act as his conscience. The Beta nods imperceptibly, his eyes conveying the stern rules he wants to say but can’t because this is Dean’s responsibility. Not as the Alpha—they never cared for that—but as the big brother.

“Yeah, kid,” Dean answers after giving Sam an answering twitch of the eyebrows (a funny little gesture Dean never really grew out of after learning from Sarah, one of Sam’s colleagues, challenged him to try it two or so years ago). “Three bottles only though, for the whole afternoon.”

“ _Awesome_.”

Sam laughs. “Alright, alright, calm your horses,” he says, tone teasing. “Where did you guys plan on eating?”

He shouldn’t have asked. He knows, just from the grin his brothers exchanged, that he should have demanded and he shouldn’t have asked. If they get together before picking him up, chances are—

“ _Zio’s_ ,” they both say delightedly, making Sam groan, because _Zio’s Pizzeria_ must be the _greasiest, biggest, baddest_ junk food place, ever. Their food though, it’s to die for. _Literally_ , his mind sneers. But he doesn’t care. This could be his cheat day.

So he just sighs and looks out the window forlornly as Dean turns into the street where Zio’s is situated. Zio’s it is, then, “for my brothers,” he mutters, lips twitching at the answering laughter he gets from the both of them.

 

Lunch is just the fanfare he had been expecting it to be. Adam and Dean had dared each other to pour whole packets of hot sauce into their respective pieces of pizza—which resulted in a crying Alpha and a Theta begging for ice to be poured down his throat. Their waitress—“Sorry, Elizabeth,” Sam had said—had looked absolutely scared and then she started laughing, which caused uncomfortable laughter to titter around the diner.

It doesn’t matter though, because after that both of his brothers decide to behave.

That is, _secretly_ have a food fight by trying to raise each other to the bottom of their plates.

Honestly, he doesn’t know who raised these men, but he is a civilized human being. He will not allow this to be how he spends his lunch with his brothers, nor will he allow it to be the cause for him to lose his appetite.

Dean looks up at him, a smudge of spaghetti sauce on his chin, and he rolls his eyes. “Come _on_ , Sammy,” Dean whines, more like a pup than a full grown adult right at the moment, “lose the posture! We’re kids today. And it’s my treat. Who knows when we’ll get to have this again.”

Sam tenses because he can hear the unheard thought in Dean’s statement. _Who knows if we’ll ever have this again_. And so, casting an uncomfortable but uncaring look around them, he shrugs and digs in.

Elizabeth comes in and shrieks at the three of them and it feels like they’ve known her forever.

Halfway through his beef calzone, Adam orders another pizza—personal size this time. Three young men, enjoying their day out, which includes literal pigging out. So far they’ve had four pizzas, one order of meals each, three buckets of fries, four burgers, three platters of spicy beans, two orders of chicken wings, and one calzone each. Sam isn’t sure where they’re packing all the food, and he’ll be more than happy to succumb to a food coma afterwards, _bangungot_ be damned.

“Oh god, I’m so full,” Dean groans, “but I want more.” They all look at his plate. It’s mournfully empty. “Please, give me more.”

“There’s a pizza coming,” Sam answers him, finishing his own food off. “And then we can have dessert.”

“ _Yes please,_ ” Dean answers, and Sam knows exactly what’s going to order. When Elizabeth comes with their pizza, he orders for them one last time—a pie and vanilla ice cream for Dean, gelato chiller for Sam, and banana split for Adam. They always order the same thing _anywhere_ it’s available, it’s kind of cute.

“I’ll miss you both,” Adam groans as he takes a slice of pizza and starts munching at it.

He feels Dean freeze from beside him, but it’s such a small movement that only Sam was able to detect it. He gulps nervously, covers his sudden reluctance about the subject by taking his own slice and biting into it. It’s a subject they haven’t discussed in… ever, really, and it’s something Sam doesn’t want to talk about much, because it includes having to think about how they’re going to find the papers to get Adam the fuck out of here.

And then Dean was giving that shit eating grin and saying, “We’ll miss you, too, kid,” before chomping down on the third pizza slice on the tray. Fifteen minutes later, their desserts are served and Sam and Adam are privy to one of the most disgustingly erotic things their brother has ever experienced.

“ _Christ_ , I swear on a cheese stick that you can have sex with your car and pie and _you’d be happy,_ ” Adam says in disgust, his nose scrunching adorably.

“Please don’t mention Cas, _please_ don’t mention Cas,” Sam pleads, but it’s too late. Dean’s already thought it up.

His grin is almost as sickening as the next words out of his mouth. “ _Sex with Cas in the Impala, featuring pie and ice cream?_ Ooooooh god, Adam, you have _no_ idea.”

Sam groans and plants his face on the table, nearly ending up with his nose buried in gelato. “I hate you.”

“He signed himself up for it, it’s not my fault!” Dean argues, affronted so suddenly. “I saw an opportunity and ran with it—can you blame me?”

(Yes Dean, I blame you. I blame you completely. That is a disgusting thought to plant on your littler brothers’ minds.)

“ _Please stop,_ ” Sam pleads, calling for Elizabeth’s attention and asking for the bill. “I want this torture to be over please.”

Adam and Dean just laugh hysterically. All in all, though, it’s a good day. And when he gets a text to come over from Jess, it just completes his day and makes everything just this much better. He grins at Dean when he and Adam drop him off at Jess’s and then he’s waving at the taillights. It’s still early afternoon—he wonders what Dean and Adam would be up to now.

 

**..--..**

 

Castiel wraps himself around Dean the moment the Alpha steps into the threshold. Dean tenses for a moment before relaxing, walking forward and dragging Castiel with him before shutting the door with the heel of his boot.

His scent is _awesome_ , Castiel thinks—like winter and snow and family and sweets and Dean. He sighs, burying his face deeper into the leather covering Dean’s shoulder.

“Hey babe,” Dean greets quietly, voice and tone soft as he just stands there, lets Castiel cling to him like a child. “Have a good day?”

Castiel nods. “Kate just reheated some leftovers from last night. It was great.” In reality, he and Kate had plopped down on the couch and started watching stupid films five minutes after Dean and Adam left to pick Sam up. Neither of them knew for sure how long they’d stay out, just sure that it would a long time, just the two of them, and it was good.

Castiel sighs before pulling away from Dean, giving him a chaste kiss when the Alpha turns to him. He tries to step back, but Dean reaches around to wrap his arms around his waist, and _really_ , why would Castiel pull away from _this_?

Dean is grinning when he finally breaks their kiss. “So,” he says, pressing his mouth to Cas’s forehead. “Did Gabe call you back yet?”

Castiel sags against Dean, and the Alpha takes a step back to balance out their weight. He shakes his head. “I’ve tried calling him again, but his phone’s off. I—I don’t think I should be worried though. I think everything—everything’s alright.”

Dean is quiet, contemplative. “Maybe Gabe just needs a time out right now. And you do, too—you scent tense as fuck, babe. What’s up?”

He presses his face against the skin of Dean’s throat. He hasn’t really gotten the guts to telling Dean yet, that he think Gabriel’s older sister is alive and that she’s moved into Seraph. He doesn’t know why he can’t, just that—Gabriel’s story. Was that only a week ago?

 _Anna, the twins. …should have been Hailey… Mary._ He feels something—

“Dean?” he asks, cautiously. Dean looks at him before falling into the couch, pulling Cas with him so they’re sitting side by side. “Did—do you remember what your—mom did? For a living?”

Dean looks at him, obviously startled, before nodding slowly. “She taught, I think. Elementary.”

_Oh no._

He pulls away and rests his back against the couch, unconsciously bringing his hand up to bite at his nails. He hasn’t had this habit since he was a teenager, newly reintegrating into society. But he’s bringing it back now, because this is a little too much. He squeezes his eyes, trying to think, _think, think, think._ Maybe too much thinking won’t do him good, but it’s really the only that would keep him sane right now.

“Cas?” Dean asks, but Castiel barely hears him over the sounds of his own thoughts. As if thoughts had sounds, but he felt like he was drowning—there was so much noise. “Cas, baby, come on. Talk to me. What’s this about?”

Dean’s choice of words snaps Castiel right back to reality and he snaps his attention to Dean, who pulls back at the sudden change of tune. “I—” he begins, but how can he continue? He doesn’t even get the thought process that led to him asking that stupid question. _I think Gabriel knows something about your past._

Maybe Gabe needs to be the one to tell Dean, just in case—just in case Castiel thought right. He shakes his head.

“Never mind,” he says, tone light and he’s surprised it actually works. “I was just… curious, I guess. We never talk about your mom.”

Dean looks at him, eyes narrowed in suspicion, before he relaxes and pulls Castiel to him. “I miss her a lot,” Dean says, his voice soft and vulnerable and sounding like a little child. Castiel feels a twinge of guilt in his gut, but he ignores it for now. “Sometimes, when I’m on my own, and I see Sammy. Sometimes I wish—I wish all this shit just never happened in our lives, you know? My baby brother could have grown up with a mom. But—

“There’s really no sense in thinking of that now, ‘coz I got Kate and Adam. You.”

Castiel smiles as he reaches up and presses his mouth against the bolt of Dean’s jaw. “I’m proud of you,” he murmurs against his skin.

“For what?” He could _hear_ the frown marring Dean’s handsome face and he smiles.

“For growing up, for learning, for not thinking this is all your fault. I’m proud of you, Dean Winchester, and I hope you see that you’re worth it and more.”

Dean is quiet for a long time, but Cas is happy to just let the quiet envelope the both of them. They’re alone in the apartment, Kate having asked Adam to go out for a bit before Dean got upstairs. He closes his eyes, turning so he is facing Dean, and lies down.

“Sleep,” Dean says softly, running his hands through Castiel’s hair, soothing him and making him relax. “I’ll follow you later.”

Castiel nods, content, before closing his eyes and falling right into sleep.

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This is probably one of the most fun chapters to write so far. There are so many vague signs of ominous events though it's making me confused, too.
> 
> NOTES:
> 
>  **Zio's** is a real pizzeria place in my hometown and the dishes Dean, Adam and Sam order are all featured in their real menus.
> 
> What do you guys think of John Winchester? O_o


	10. Chapter 10

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> He watches Dean for a few more seconds before he opens his mouth. “So, get this.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am back, alive and well, my friends  
> Battles against real life might have been lost since the last time you have heard from me and today, but the war isn't over (and sorry for being a dramatic shit lol)
> 
> Seriously though, if you're still into this then here you go--kinda like a late Valentine's day present? Yeah, or somth.

Call it a hunch if you will, but Gabriel is getting a strange feeling about this mission. It’s reconnaissance, surely they won’t need both heads of Seraph with them? They have Dean Winchester! They have _himself_ , what are they expecting? It’s not like they didn’t get the command—and the rehashing of said command—to _not engage at all costs_.

The ride towards their target is silent, Dean Winchester seated in front of him. John Winchester is leisurely lounging on his own side of plane, while Lucifer and Michael convene at the far end of the cabin. They are all wearing their regulation uniforms, except for Dean, who is wearing a strange looking jacket instead of a coat.

His knuckles are white against the foamed arm rests, and Gabriel stares at him. He’s bored.

He has heard rumors, of Dean fearing flights and planes in general. Castiel has never said anything. This, though, makes him much more… human. That he’s scared and he’s white knuckling the seat that Gabriel is almost afraid he’d tear it right off. Dean has his eyes closed, though, back against the backrest, head resting purposefully against his neck pillow. His posture looks too… sharp to be natural.

He pokes Dean’s foot with his own.

He isn’t acknowledged.

He does it again.

Dean twitches, and opens his eyes to glare at him. There isn’t a trace of anger in his eyes, though, the green orbs are blank and focused. This must be what his partners in the past have seen, when they go out on missions. The focus, the posture, the all around Alpha pheromones.

It is rather intimidating, he surmises, when you’re stuck in a place with no one but Dean Winchester and everything you’ve heard about him, and you’re in a mission. He is once again proud that his baby brother has bagged this fine specimen of an Alpha—

And Gabriel stops that thought immediately because they go into territory he doesn’t want to think of. Not now, not _ever_. He takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, before grinning lazily at Dean. The younger Alpha rolls his eyes and goes back to making himself look like he’s relaxed.

Okay then.

He looks to his left to see that John is watching the both of them, glass in hand, eyes trained intensely on his son before flicking to Gabriel and back again. He’s surprised Dean hasn’t burst into flames just yet, with the intensity his father is staring at him. He shakes his head. This really is weird.

When they got to the airstrip earlier (Gabriel was, of course, the last one there—by principle he arrives five minutes before call time, which is late by Cohen’s standards. Prick) there were five chairs fixed in a semi-circle around a small table, his companions for the mission already seated.

He took a seat beside Dean, because a) the only other seat available was beside John and b) Dean was the most sensible among the rest of them. The fifth chair was taken a few minutes later by none other than Raphael Buckfield, who he would later learn is in charge of Seraph while Lucifer and Michael were busy.

Gwen Campbell was there, too, standing resolutely behind her cousin and not flinching at all when Raphael sent her a dubious glance—he was assured only when Lucifer said, “please, Raphael, if we were honest _you’re_ the only stranger in this circle.” Well, not reassured per se, but… know what? Never mind.

And so they were briefed.

Gwen—a small slip of a girl, younger than Dean by a few years, probably younger than Sam, too—around Cas’s age, maybe—took presidency of the briefing and Gabriel found it in himself to be fully impressed. In all his years as a member of the Host Gwen has always been the only capable and efficient enough to give them everything they need and not bat an eyelash about it. He’s been briefed in other offices, by other people, heads of departments and secretaries alike—but none of them has ever made him feel proud about it but Miss Gwen Campbell. One glance at Dean says he is, too—but it is quickly short lived.

“It’s a recon assignment to a large Collector Syndicate,” she said, her voice and face grim. Gabriel tensed, because the last time he was on a ‘recon assignment’ to a syndicate, it sparked a war that caused the Garrison Structure of the Host to be eradicated, soon to be replaced by almost compulsory Host – Handler partnership on every mission. He gulped, sending a look to Michael, who returned it. His face was impassive.

“We have no idea how long this Syndicate has been running, but—” she paused, looked up, and continued with, “Mr. Cohen believes they’ve been in… in _business_ for ten years to be this big. It’s almost as big as the—one during the Plan Blue Recon and Rescue a decade ago.” She never looked at Gabriel, but he had a feeling she wanted to. For whose benefit, he wasn’t sure—only, he knew there were only two people in this meeting that didn’t know about it. He breathes deep. “This Syndicate is being funded by a large company that goes by—” this time, as if she couldn’t help herself, she glanced at her cousin “—EZ Tech. It’s a cover name, just a cover company. What we need to know is who they truly are and what they’re after.

“Our radars pinged, two years ago, about a large kidnapping in an elementary school of children who haven’t presented—too young to even be in puberty. They would only all be hitting puberty this year, and so we still aren’t sure what they’re being used for. So far all we know about Collectors is that they operate for trafficking schemes, but if they don’t know what these children will present as, what are they operating for?

“As you have been briefed, you are _not to engage for any reason_. If, in any case, your cover is blown and you are almost certain to engage, you are commanded to pull back and to report the action immediately. There will be no excuses for engagement.”

 

She sounded strict, like a mother, and Gabriel smiles bitterly at his own analogy because, _hello_. None of them actually had mothers. Not even little Miss Campbell—he has heard of their family history. Of her father, Christian Campbell Senior; her mother. Nope, none of them has living mothers.

It is a very, very sad prospect, but not one he wishes to keep thinking of. Instead he closes his eyes as well, following the posture of Dean, only this time he is feeling relaxed, not just pretending to be. They left Seraph with Michael and Lucifer pulling out the strict cards on Raphael—how he would be monitored by none other than Gwen Campbell herself, who reports to no one but Lucifer Pellegrino.

Sometimes he wonders why Michael doesn’t have his own secretary, and then he remembers the scary efficiency Gwen works in and he just shrugs it off, because. They probably don’t need it, if they were planning on working her hard. Working her to the ground.

He falls asleep during the last leg of their journey.

 

Dean shakes him awake what feels like seconds later, but actually, it had already been about two hours. “Are we here already?” he asks, looking around. John is still lounging on his chair, brandy in hand. Neither one of the heads is anywhere to be seen.

Dean shakes his head. “We’re being assigned positions in a bit. Pellegrino and Cohen are at the back. You’re going in first.”

Gabriel furrows his brows but gets up, causing Dean to lean back and sit down. He stares out of the window as Gabriel steps into the aisle, watching John from the corner of his eyes. The older Alpha is watching his son, swirling his glass in small, graceful flicks of his wrist. The movement is hypnotizing, but the look in his eyes makes Gabriel uncomfortable.

It reminds him too much of that time, when everything in his life went to Hell in a hand basket, when John Winchester’s wife died and he had to watch the only home he had ever known until then burn to the ground because someone decided to finally fight a system that was taking too much from them.

It reminds him that John was there, that he was—still _is—_ human, that he had lost as much as all of them involved did, back then. He ignores the lump that forms in his throat and walks resolutely towards the back, towards a section that was closed off by a curtain. He could hear the hisses of air as they whisper and the rustling of fabric against skin, and he clears his throat—loudly—before pushing one of the curtains aside to step towards the man who had inadvertently become his father, and the man he chose to be his father.

“What’s up?” he asks as casually as he could, taking in the sight before him. Michael is sprawled against a comfortable looking lounge chair, blinking almost stupidly at Gabriel. Lucifer, however, is perched on a small desk off to the side, a self-satisfied smirk painting his face, relaxed and laid back as his name implies him to be.

“Well hello there, Gabriel,” the latter greets, his eyes sparkling in mischievousness. He had always liked Lucifer, especially when he was younger, before he had convinced Valentine and Dana to allow him to work in Seraph. He had always thought he was perfect for Michael—he was light where Michael was dark, and he was needy in all the ways only Michael could provide for him. “How are you today?”

Michael rolls his eyes and straightens up, clearing his throat and sending a glare to Lucifer.

“Oh my god, lighten up, Mikey,” he teases, grinning at the deadly glare that is sent towards him this time. “What’s wrong with you? What crawled up your ass and died?”

Lucifer snorts, and Gabriel suddenly wishes he never asked. There was a time when he lived with Luke and Mike, and living with Luke and Mike told Gabriel exactly why you take care of what you say around siblings—older or no—and make sure you never give them any sort of ammunition for trauma. He covers his ears and says, loudly, “So, my assignment?” before Lucifer could make a joke about—

 _God_ , he will _never_ get used to the fact that Michael and Lucifer are _together_. Fucking Hell. _I lived with them, walked into enough situations to prove it. Still. No._

He drops his hands at the sudden tension in the air—and not the fun kind. Lucifer and Michael glances at each other, and Gabriel wonders at that. He is pretty sure Lucifer isn’t a part of the whole fiasco when it exploded—he must have still been in the Academy at that time and, judging from the complete ignorance some people in the Cherubim tier of the hierarchy, people who weren’t personally part of the lives of the people involved knew _nothing_ about what happened.

“We have to shut down the Project, Gabriel,” Michael says lowly, causing Gabriel to have to lean closer to hear him properly. “It has to be cut off, ended, killed.”

“I thought it was over,” he says, stupidly, suddenly feeling cold all over. “I thought it had already gotten shut down, years ago.”

Michael shakes his head, voice almost gentle as he says, “We were wrong. We should have terminated everything about the stupid Project, should have gotten rid of all the data, destroyed the records, made sure nothing and no one with anything left.” He steeples his fingers together, resting his elbows on the armrests of his chair, resting his forehead against his joined hands. “Back then we had been so desperate to just get it all over with. Everything blew up, and then there were the deaths, and _Naomi_ decides to step down—”

“The power vacuum wasn’t your fault, Michael,” Lucifer interjects, straightening and walking towards Michael, perching this time next to him, hand on his shoulder. “If you hadn’t stepped up, it would have gotten worse. It would have continued.”

“Then at least it would’ve been isolated in Seraph, if it did,” Michael answers, voice dark, and angry, and filled with desolation and self-hatred. Gabriel hated—hates—this side of Michael, and seeing it now, after everything, hurts almost as much as the realization that Anna is, indeed, _alive_. “Now look what’s happened—bigger incidence of kidnapping, people _talking_ —”

Gabriel clears his throat and swallows nervously against his suddenly very dry mouth, glancing over his shoulder at the blue curtain keeping the other two passengers from this conversation and effectively stopping the initial tirade. “How do we shut it down?” he asks instead. “Obviously splitting up isn’t an option anymore.”

“It never was an option,” Michael says, voice level before he shakes his head. “I’m sure you never believed me when I told you it was over, on their fifth anniversary, did you?”

He shakes his head, because _no_ , it was impossible for everything to have been over just like that. He might have been young, and many might have believed in his naïveté, but he isn’t stupid.  He never thought it was over, that things were okay, not when he finally met Dean, not when he finally got Cas. It wasn’t that hard to figure out, once he got to the bottom of what really started the chaos that lasted almost six months, that started when Dean Winchester’s younger brother was born.

“Well, you’re right. It’s not over. And we’re here to end it.” Michael’s tone, voice and expression are all devoid of emotion as he speaks, making the cold lead at the pit of Gabriel’s stomach feel heavier and colder.

“I thought we weren’t supposed to engage in any way?” he asks, hesitant as he meets Michael’s eyes, and then Lucifer’s. “This isn’t the mission it was cracked up to be at HQ, was it.” It isn’t even a matter of a question anymore.

It was exactly the same thing that happened ten years ago, with Cas, when he thought all he was going to do was rescue a bunch of kids from some run-of-the-mill Collector syndicate. He had been wrong, so wrong—the Roman syndicate was big and strong, and he had taken out one of its biggest primary arms. It had sparked a war that Seraph has been fighting for years since.

He didn’t see the obvious fact that Seraph had been losing until now, faced with this new challenge. He swallows.

Lucifer chuckles, humorless and cold. “It’s the great exposition, Gabby,” he said lightly, coming forward to ruffle Gabriel’s hair. The use of his nickname, as it always did, makes his heart jump in his chest. “We’re all out of moves. It’s your turn.”

Everything seems to freeze at the moment, and the only thing that Gabriel can think is, _what_. “ _Now_?” he hisses, staring, wide-eyed and incredulous, at Lucifer and then at Michael. “You’re telling me I have to do it _now_?”

“No one knows how the whole thing works, Gabby,” Michael says, his tone tired and eyes falling flat. “I don’t know, the doctors don’t know, the people who synthesized the genes don’t know. There is only one living person who knows, and that’s you. We’ve tried our best to find out, but, as Luke had said, we’re all out of moves.”

“Anna’s alive,” he blurts out, watching in detached fascination as confusion, disbelief, terror, and finally, horror settles on Michael’s face. “She’s _alive_ , Mike, and she has a kid and a mate and—”

“Whatever you’re trying to pull,” Michael growls, his face now darkened with anger, “it is not funny, Gabriel. We are pleading with you—”

“I’m not joking!” he says, hands flailing. “She’s _alive_ , she’s okay, she’s—” cold horror slithers down his back. “She’s back in Seraph.”

Michael blinks. “Fuck,” he hisses. “ _Fuck._ Gabby, whatever happens, I want you by Dean’s side, got it? Whatever he needs for activation, only you know. You, and Anna, right now. I’ll get her out of the line of fire as soon as I can.”

“Call Cas,” he whispers urgently, reaching out to grasp Michael’s arm. “Call Cas, Mike, tell him what he needs to do.”

“That’s not for me to decide, Gabby,” Michael says flatly, before he glances at the curtain behind them. “We’ll try to keep him as far away from Roman as possible, and I’ll make sure he’s—”

“He’s Dean’s _mate_ ,” he hisses, desperate, and suddenly remembers why he had begged Kali to leave—and that hopefully, she will be able to, before they start this shit storm they are obviously trying to spark. He doesn’t care who and how he’ll exploit as long as the people he loves _stay safe_. “Code one, Michael.”

Michael’s gaze is frosty as he nods at Gabriel jerkily, stepping away from Gabriel. “Go. Call John in.”

Gabriel hesitates as he turns, hand outstretched towards the fabric. “What have you told Dean?”

“Nothing, at the moment. He still doesn’t know anything.”

“You do know that he’ll have to know if you don’t want him turning on you.”

“You know that, Gabby. It’s your call, remember? It always has been.”

Gabriel feels nauseous as he walks back towards his seat, freezing when he sees John and Dean in an intense glaring contest. He sighs, walking briskly and tapping John on the shoulder, pointing at the curtain when the older man looks. “Your turn,” he says, hoping against hope that his look conveys everything he wishes John to know before he faces Michael and Lucifer.

John nods and gets up, leaving Gabriel with Dean. He licks his lips, catching Dean’s furious green eyes, which narrow in suspicion when they meet his. He tries for a grin, but he knows he fails as he falls to the seat assigned to him, the one in front of Dean.

He watches Dean for a few more seconds before he opens his mouth. “So, get this.”

 

**..--..**

 

There’s something different about the morning when he wakes up.

He doesn’t know how he _knows_ , it’s just that there’s something fundamentally different about the air when he leaves his room—and it’s not just the knowledge that Dean is gone on a mission again.

Decembers in Seraph are usually laid back and relaxed, with families having equal entry and exit but heightened—although covert—security rolling around. The only difference is that there’s something about the air wafting about the administration when he passes their building on his way to work that makes the hair in the back of his neck prickle. Dean was never gone on missions at the end of the year before, though he’d get weekly assignments until the end of January, by which time he’d have a laundry list of missions that keep him busy until early March.

But he isn’t in Seraph now, and the people who _are_ are Cas, and Adam, and Kate, and they’re still family, but with the tone Cas had talked to him with when he called earlier before he went to work, he could feel it, too. He had tried to talk to Ellen or Bobby—or even Rufus, when he went off to check on his terminal before going to his cubicle of a workplace—but none of them seemed to ever have a spare moment to even have a chat.

He had tried to talk to Jess, but she said things were getting busy at the hospital in their preparation for the influx of visitors and sick kids and old people with their maladies that their conversation had been cut to three minutes and twelve seconds. Dean could still be in his flight to wherever the hell they were supposed to be having this mission to, so calling him would just result to ending up in his voicemail, which, if he was lucky, Dean would see tomorrow at the earliest.

“Hey.”

Sam spins around in his chair and smiles when he sees who is there, deigning to give him the honor of her presence: Jo, who grins at him and gives him a peace sign as a mockery of a salute. “Hey,” he parrots back, tilting his head as a gesture to mean, _come in_.

She does, perching against the cabinet file on one corner of his room, and she crosses her arms on her chest. “So I heard your older brother got assigned to another mission,” she says conversationally, but there’s a look in her eyes that tells Sam just how she feels about _hearing_ the news.

He cringes. “I’m sorry,” he says, “I didn’t know he didn’t tell you.”

Her gaze softens and she reaches up to ruffle his hair. “That’s okay, kiddo.” Her easy demeanor shifts then, to an uncomfortable one, and not for the first time, Sam wishes they weren’t required to block their scents in the workplace because knowing just how Jo is feeling right at the moment would have been helpful. “The whole admin’s actually all hush about this,” she murmurs, leaning closer to Sam when he does so he could hear clearer. “I tried to finagle some deets from Momma or Bobs, but they’re all zip. Got nada, absolute zilch.”

Sam frowns. “I tried to get any one of them alone, too, actually,” he says, “but all I know—from Gwen, even—is what they’ve told Dean. It’s a recon mission to some Collector sitch somewhere over the rainbow. Don’t know why they’d have to time it now, though—both heads are gone, and even _Dad’s_ not here when his job’s most important.”

“I’m tryna get Benny to talk to his bosses over at the Flights to check up on what we’re missing,” she says, “because we’re obviously missing a whole lotta shit about whatever this mission is.”

“You feel it, too?” he asks quietly, ignoring the shushing sound he receives from the other cubicle, but lessening his voice, just the same. “You feel it, this isn’t what it seems to be?”

“Dude,” Jo hisses, “the way everyone’s acting is, like, a dead giveaway. I don’ even need to have graduated at the A to know it’s Suspicious Acts 101.”

Sam groans and leans against his chair, rubbing at his eyes tiredly. He had gotten a good eight hours of sleep last night, but obviously it hadn’t been enough, because he still feels weary, if not exhausted. “D’you think Dean knows anything?”

Jo bites her bottom lip, worrying it between her teeth as they both give each other a ruminating moment. After a while, they both sigh and shake their heads—Dean could either know or not know anything at all, and they both knew worrying about it would just lead them to more stress than they’re supposed to be handling. Jo shakes her head and heads out right after, after promising Sam lunch one day within the week.

Sam had had a crush on Jo, once, when he was younger, when she was just the rambunctious cousin who took his side whenever he had an argument with Dean. She’d be the one to punch Dean in the nose—or the arm, after that one time she almost broke it—whenever Sam was too winded with screaming to do it himself. She had been the one who teased him lightly and helped him cope with worrying after Dean when he was sent to his first mission outside of Seraph. She had been the one who opened the door to her and Ellen’s apartment whenever he wanted to get away from John and the cold loneliness of their apartment, before they left it and moved into their own places.

And then suddenly, Jo just… became Jo. She became family, the kind of family that you just suddenly realize has always been there and always will, the kind of family that cannot be jeopardized by something as trivial as a crush.

If that crush lasted five years then, well, that’s for him to know and the rest of the world to ignore.

Instead of stressing himself out further about the present situation, he instead opens his computer—connecting to the portal as soon as it has booted up and checking out each bug and lining their codes up in a notepad he keeps by his mouse pad according to how hard they were and how much time he estimates he’s going to spend time debugging it.

He had always liked the way the Techs worked, in Seraph—the comfortable silence, the occasional ringing question, the muttered insult to the system they were being punished into using. Bustling activity and continuous noise never agreed with him, for some reason—maybe it had something to do with the way Dean had taken care of him, making sure to give him some time to be alone with a book or seven in a quiet room or corner, or maybe it’s something else—but he just couldn’t stand too much excitement for too long.

Dean had joked it was because he was _fragile_ , and though he agrees with the sentiment, he doesn’t believe it’s the only reason. He had seen the way Dean thrived in the attention he receives, both in the past, and especially today. He had seen how his brother flourished under the pressure of everyone’s eyes on him, including their father’s, and it was then that he knew for sure _he_ could never do  it.

He shakes his head as if to clear it from his thoughts and concentrates on his job instead, drowning in the low buzz of the overhead air conditioner and the clicks of keyboards and of people groaning in frustration at the bugs that pop up.

“Sam.”

He looks up, blinking as his eyes adjust from the backlight of the computer screen he’d been staring up to see no one else but Ellen Harvelle, hand on her hip as she stares at him with a raised eyebrow. He frowns in confusion.

“Hey, Ellen,” he says, raising his hand and wiggling his fingers in greeting, scowling at the cramps that shot pains down his arm and up his shoulder. “Ouch,” he murmurs.

Ellen rolls her eyes and grabs his shoulder, pulling him up effortlessly so he was standing—he almost falls over, if not for her catching him and keeping him balanced on his feet as he loses balance from head rush and blood finally circulating from his legs.

“How long have I been working?” he asks dizzily, grasping Ellen’s hand gratefully until he regains equilibrium.

“Long enough that Cas is impatient enough to knock on _my_ door.” Ellen sighs in exasperation, patting Sam in the back twice before finally letting him go. He smiles at her when he’s stable. “You _do_ have a cell phone, don’t you?”

Sam nods, reaching into his pocket to find—nothing.

He frowns, checks his pockets, his bag—even his desk, although he knows for sure it’s not there. It’s a rule to never have phones on your desk on the job. He looks guiltily at Ellen, who, despite their height difference, manages to glower at him in reproach. “Sorry?”

Ellen rolls her eyes and gestures at his cubicle door. “Apologize to Castiel, you moose. Go!” she repeats, when Sam doesn’t move, and he moves as quickly as he possibly can, grabbing his bag and dashing out of his floor. He apologizes to someone he bumps into—an intern, Tyson Brady, or something like that—and runs to the elevator.

Cas has his arms crossed and is tapping his toe on the tile of the lobby when Sam finally arrives. He throws his arms up in fond exasperation as he shakes Adam—who has fallen asleep on one of the armchairs—awake.

“I promised your brother I’d take care of the two of you,” Cas says conversationally as Sam leads him outside, Adam following behind them. Cas’s scent—like pine and pie, and snow and winter—is a comforting refreshment to the stale sterility of the scents inside his workplace, and he smiles tiredly as Adam pats him on the shoulder in solidarity. His younger brother had always had a sensitive nose. “Come on, I know a place.”

Sam peers at him. “Really? I always thought you were some—home buddy or something.”

“ _I_ am,” Cas answers, “my brother isn’t. And he and—” Cas suddenly stops, and something comes over his face—a darkness, an expression. “Anyway, he’s shown me around. I have lived here for years, you know.”

“Yeah,” Sam says softly, recognizing a sore topic as it is and deciding to leave it. So something must have happened between his last conversation with Dean and today, and it’s something that has to do with Gabriel. He remembers the older Alpha from his time in the hospital, several months ago, when Dean had just got back from his rescue mission.

The worry, the fears—it had been obvious, how much he had cared for Cas, and he couldn’t quite reconcile that image to the Gabriel he had met months later, as his brother’s mate’s brother. And now something’s up, and though he shouldn’t be worrying about it, he still is, and he has no idea how he’s going to reach his older brother because he’s sure Dean is worrying about all of them right now and—

“Sam,” Cas calls, and Sam is suddenly aware of a hand on his arm, and he breathes out. “There you are. Where’d you go?” he asks softly, gently, his thumb rubbing gentle circles through Sam’s coat, and for some reason, even though he couldn’t feel it on his skin, that action relaxes and reassures him greatly.

“I just realized you’re younger than me,” he tells Cas, “and for some reason you’re somehow so much better than me at a lot of things.”

Cas’s answering grin can only be described as impish, and it’s an adorable, new look on his face. It makes Sam smile right back and chuckle. “I’m just good at guessing what people need at the right time. It makes me good at my job.”

He smiles in answer, reaching back to wrap an arm around his brother’s shoulder to pull him closer to the conversation as Cas turns the corner down a few warehouses.  “Yea, Handling our brother,” Adam mutters, sniffling against his gloves. “Where are you taking us, Cas? Some abandoned warehouse where you can offer us as gifts to the gods for your talents?”

Cas laughs at Adam: a full-body, crinkle-eyes, back-bowing raucous laughter that Sam had never seen him do before. Cas had always been demure to Dean’s boldness, showing amusement through small chuckles and fond smiles and exasperated shakes of the head.

He had never seen _this_ before, and if this is the sight that’s going to be greeting Dean daily? He’s pretty sure his brother’s all set for life. Castiel keeps laughing as they walk, and then they cross the street towards a tall building that seems to be made completely out of wood. It looks ancient, though Sam’s pretty sure they’re in the North Side of Seraph, where the buildings are fairly new and industrialized.

This building is warm and welcoming, though, promising warmth and good food and Sam takes a deep breath as soon as he’s inside—there’s a mixture of scents of other people, but they’re all of comfort and coziness and satisfaction. Cas has a smile on his face that shows just how much of a good decision not only for him, but for all three of them as well, this is. They are immediately seated at a booth that had a ‘reserved’ card on it before they arrived, and soon Sam is being presented with a menu that specializes on vegetarian dishes.

“I hope this combats at least part of the kind of diet Dean provides you with,” Cas says as he gives his order smoothly, without even having to look at the menu anymore. “Gabe has taken me here enough times that I’m pretty sure it’s my favorite place.”

“You can bring Dean here, sometime,” Adam says, “make it seem like you’re celebrating something big—your birthday—his! Next year! And then bam! Make him eat all this healthy rabbit c—stuff.”

Sam rolls his eyes at his brother’s antics, though the idea of having Dean to come here is a good one. Dean needs as much nourishment as he could get, seeing as he seems to prefer to have a heart attack by 40. “Where’s Kate, anyway?” he asks instead, looking at Adam in appraisal.

Adam scowls, shaking his head. “Lisa came by,” he mutts lowly, before pouting and letting his breath out it one big burst. “I didn’t know she lived here. Did you?”

Sam blinks. Lisa Braeden had been one of Dean’s more serious relationships, and had been the last before he concentrated on his job and hooked up in missions instead. He never really got the truth as to what had happened, between Lisa and Dean—he just knew that something blew up, and she didn’t try to fix it, and Dean blamed himself and she didn’t try to correct him.

When it ended, Sam had been more than relieved. Lisa had seemed perfect for Dean—a Beta, a strong-willed one, someone who didn’t easily fall under Dean’s charms. She balanced Dean out and calmed him down and their relationship had been perfect and ideal, from Sam’s point of view.

Before Cas, Lisa had been the last mention of mating in the Winchester household.

Until suddenly there wasn’t anymore, and Dean stopped trying for relationships and his list of one-night stands grew longer and longer until Dean got tired and just _stopped_.

Until Cas.

“Um,” he says, glancing at Cas, who is staring pointedly outside the window of the diner, watching the snow and the kids playing outside, “and?”

“She has a kid.”

Sam blanched.

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> The great exposition is coming (I've already written what happens _after_ but I do not know how to properly write the exposition itself. I've never been good with that kind of thing without making things anticlimatic (I mean, come on--40k words for the build-up and what it has been building up to was actually boring.)
> 
> Alright, okay, bye again. I'll try to update before the end of February (though there's no guarantee--internet here is unreliable, seriously, this is the third time I've uploaded this chapter and I hope it stays this time.) And, you know. Real life.


	11. Chapter 11

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> At the moment, he just hopes.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Okay, I lied. I finished this chapter because I didn't go to class on Tuesday, I had no class yesterday, and today is a holiday. (Day of Valor, my brothers and sisters, let us... mourn the fall of Bataan. I have no idea why this is a holiday. The _Death March_ followed, for fvck's sakes!!!!)
> 
> I will stop the rant right here.
> 
> Anyway, I am (fairly!) sure that the next chapter's coming up next month, because I have no free weekends or holidays within the coming weeks until the end of the semester. Wish me luck!!!

There was a time in Dean Winchester’s life when he believed in fairytales, when he giggled and listened and laughed and watched with rapt attention as the narrative of people’s lives changed into unbelievable adventures and _happily ever after_ s. There was a time when he enjoyed imagining those fictional worlds to engulf his mind and thoughts so he could pretend that it was him, living those lives; it was him, having those conversations; it was him, being told about to children and read about in libraries and watched on television.

When Dean was younger, he loved whenever Mary would pick him up from his sprawl on the floor only to deposit him on the bed, tucking him in with a little feather trinket he would later lose in the chaos that was the Winchester home fire. And then she would sit on the rocking chair that John had made for her with a book on her lap, running warm, soothing fingers through Dean’s hair and kissing his forehead.

“You’re my little angel,” she would never forget to say, before she smiles and picks up a book, small spark of warmth in her eyes as she picked the book up, clearing her throat in preparation of reading. “What would you like to hear today, angel?”

Dean wasn’t sure what he would say—and as he ruminates, he doesn’t know if the images that play in his head are his imaginations or real memories. Is it possible for one to remember clearly what another person does at a certain moment with no clear recollection of what _you_ did?—but sometimes, he knew he’d simply giggle and watch his mother, beautiful even in the dimness of his room.

There were also times, though, when Mary carries him silently to his room after a fight with his father, or after a fight with Granma Campbell, or after someone visits but Dean can’t be there because it’s the _adults talking_ , when Mary would simply hold him to her and sway around the room, humming _Hey Jude_ close to his ear until she was calm enough to set him down. Set him down meaning she would sit on her rocking chair and hold him in her lap, that is.

Those were the times when she would tell his favorite story of all time: the story of Marianne Cambridge. Mary’s voice would be low and soft and reverent as she tells Marianne’s story, and Dean would burrow his face on his mother’s neck, smiling and reacting at the right times.

Marianne Cambridge was, according to the story, a young girl chosen by the system to do a deed that was against everything she has ever believed in. She was brave and beautiful, looked up to by those younger than her and used as a model and example by those older. She was well-loved as well, and she very much loved a man named Jacob. Anne and Jacob were a model couple—the perfect relationship, the perfect mix of genes…

Jacob never got on well with Anne’s family, however, and he did what he could to prove that he was worthy of her. Anne had told him countless of times that it wouldn’t matter because they could make a name of their own, but Jacob was relentless in his search of acknowledgment—especially from a man as established as Anne’s father. But he did something, and he went too far, and soon Anne was stuck between choosing the love of her life or the rest of the world.

She had chosen Jacob, of course, and Anne says she will never regret it.

And Marianne Cambridge is chosen to do the most dauntless task known to the system: to betray her people in exchange for her husband. And so she fought. She began a movement that caused a great deal to her but had sparked a fire within the rest of the people to overthrow the system.

Dean always thought it was brave, if not stupid, to do that for the sake of love. But Marianne had chosen to do it—to fight—even when she knew it was going to cost her. Now Dean thinks he is never going to want to hear anyone tell him a story again, _ever_. He had heard Cas’s story. He has heard Adam’s, what he had gone through before Dean could get to him.

And now _Gabriel._

Dean didn’t know if he wanted to punch Gabriel or kill himself, or punch Gabriel and _then_ kill himself. He had no idea how to believe anything that coming out of Gabriel’s mouth, much less be expected to know what to fucking do with the information that had been force fed down his throat in just a few fucking hours.

He used to love hearing, even _telling_ , stories—but those stories were stories created from the figments of the imagination of other people. After the fire when he was four years old he had promised to himself that he would tell only the stories appropriate for Sam—and though, at four years old, he could barely even read, he had tried his best to raise his younger brother in the same kind of warmth that he had grown up in.

Sam’s bedtime—those were the only times he’d allowed himself to remember, how it felt to be the one being tucked in, being read to, falling asleep to the sound of voices. John would sometimes watch him and then storm away, only for Dean to later find in the other bed snoring, a bottle of one sort or another tucked gently against his chest.

He would sometimes envy those bottles, seeing as John held them gentler than he treated Dean at the best of times, but he never said anything so long as John was tender with Sam. And he was. Very tender, every bit the father Dean had seen but never felt again.

He turned over in the bed—it was large, and fluffy, and soft and comfortable but it just wasn’t the bed he shared with Cas, and it’s a travesty that he’s mated and he couldn’t share his bed with his mate. What he’d give right now, to have Cas right here with him, running his hands through his hair, humming whatever song he could think of. He’d even listen to the story of the bee _one more time_ just to have Cas here, comforting him and telling him that Gabriel was lying, that it wasn’t true, that _there was no reality_ in Gabe’s words.

But he had seen the way John had given them wide berth, the way Michael and Lucifer stood back as Gabriel continued talking, monotonous and taciturn, just staring Dean down with a flat light in his eyes. He had felt the hesitant expectation coming from the three older Alphas, watching him as Gabriel continued talking, wrenching memories buried long past—but still hurting and hurtful—and shaped them and changed them and hurled them right at Dean’s face. Even without the benefit of scents Dean just simply _knew_ the cabin was being filled with scents of melancholy and sadness and whatever the fuck else even as his stomach dropped and he felt cold and frozen and _Gabriel just kept talking_.

It was probably best that he had began talking while they were still in the air, still two hours away from their destination when Gabriel finished telling his version of events, some blank spaces filled by either Michael or John and Lucifer standing just behind Michael, not looking at anyone but not looking lost at all, either.

Those two hours had allowed Dean to cool off and be rational—he had felt the urge to run, to jump the fuck out as fast as possible, right after Gabriel stopped speaking, as all of Dean’s memories of those six months after Sam’s birth—no matter how muddled they are of grief and childhood naivety—rearranged themselves and changed angles and perspectives and were suddenly put into a larger context of _someone else who was there_.

Gabriel was there, too, right there with him, he was one of the people who were hurt by what Dean had always thought was an extreme act of betrayal on Seraph’s part. He had always held that grudge against Seraph close to his heart—using it as an excuse in that time when he was climbing the leader board for missions as a Fledge before he was completely initiated into Host – dom. God, how wrong he was.

It was _Seraph_ being betrayed, that time.

And the system he had promised himself he’d overthrow, the same way Marianne Campbell overthrew hers, suddenly became the system he is desperate to save. It’s the only thing, at the moment, protecting everything and everyone he loves from complete and utter doom.

 _“So get this,”_ Gabriel had said. His tone had a forced nonchalance to it that made the hairs at the back of Dean’s neck rise and bristle; it was the tone of someone trying to find the lightest way to deliver a killing blow. _“I’m pretty sure you remember the fire when you were four. Do you?”_

Dean had growled in answer. No one talks about that time, ever—not even John Winchester himself. And now Gabriel was bringing it up. _“Gabe_ ,” he’d said, _“if this is just for shits and giggles I swear to fucking God_ — _”_

_“Oh but there is no God in this situation, Dean-o. There’s just you and me and three other Alphas in this plane bound together by a single fucking denominator. D’you want to guess what that is?”_

Then, Dean hasn’t been sure if he was supposed to go with the joke or if he was supposed to stand and punch Gabriel in the face. God knows he wanted to do both. _“What, Mary Winchester?”_ he’d sneered. He had cringed, deep inside, because he _hated_ having to have said his mother’s name in such a tone. He hated _himself_.

Gabriel had chuckled, but it was cold and humorless and so unlike him that it made Dean uncomfortable, all of a sudden. He’d like to say that, the past few months, he’d gotten to know Gabriel. Looking at the other Alpha now, he was pretty sure he was wrong: Gabriel had always had a light of mischief in his eyes. That was gone now. There always have been laughter lines around his eyes and mouth, but looking at him at the moment, Gabriel looked like a marble statue, his face smooth of all imperfections and eyes as cold as amber.

Even the way he was spinning the pen around his fingers looked mechanical.

 _“Close enough. It’s called the Bloodlines Project, and your mom had been right in the middle of it, before she said,_ fuck it _, and everything went to shit._

 _“Well, everything already_ was _in deep shit, some people just wanted things to get even_ deeper _. But she didn’t, and your mom—your mom was strong, Dean-o, be proud of her for that. You’re gonna get angry, and you’re gonna hate all of us more than you already do at the moment, but try to remember that your mom fought for this, alright? She fought so_ you _could continue fighting something she knew she would have to give up some day.”_

 _“Get straight to the point_ ,” he’d growled. He must have looked like a posturing Alpha when he did so, but he couldn’t help it—Gabriel was implying he would hate his _mom_. His _mom_ , who was born with a monster of a son. God.

Now, now? All of his fears, all of the things he’s suspected about himself for _years_ , all of the rumors and whispers about Dean Winchester—they’re all… they’ve all been confirmed. Straight to Dean’s ears, in a conversation eight thousand miles above the earth in a human flying metal tube.

 _“They kidnapped your dad, one day,_ ” Gabriel had said, exactly the same moment John Winchester himself walked out of the curtained-off partition of the plane where Cohen and Pellegrino were working. Now all three older Alphas were staring at either him or Gabriel, haunted eyes and blank expressions.

 _“Your mom never even knew that part,”_ John had said softly, his voice wistful and so full of the grief Dean never got to physically see when he was growing up. Michael just looked sick.

 _“What did she never know?”_ he’d demanded, standing up, trying to intimidate four Alphas who probably could have killed him in the three seconds it took to stand up. _“What did she not know, dad?”_

 _“That the reason your father wasn’t there when they were_ forcing _her into agreeing to the Project was because he was being held captive in the lab’s basement,”_ Michael had said. His voice was clipped, but emotionless. A videogame’s voice actor has more inflection than he did at the moment. _“Your grandfather was used as bait. Your father… as consolation. But only if your mother agreed.”_

Dean had fallen back to his seat, then. Because what else could he do or say? _“And she did, didn’t she.”_ He couldn’t bring himself to fake doubt, not when there were two proofs right in front of him, living, to what his mother agreed to.

 _“You have to understand, she was pregnant, with you. Her mate was always gone, her father’s missing, and her friends were one by one getting plucked out of their homes and returned. But… piece. By. Piece.”_ Gabriel’s voice held anger, more than Dean has ever heard from him, ever before. But with all that rage came loss and grieving, emotions that made Dean’s view of Gabriel that much more changed from what he saw the other Alpha as before they took off.

 _“That amount of pressure,”_ Gabriel had continued, eyes downcast, _“added to worrying for her mate and her father? It—I guess she snapped. She agreed. She knew how much it was going to hurt her. How much it was going to hurt_ you _, but… I think she’d planned it all along, you know. She’d agree, and then she’d fight to get you out of it.”_

And then it hit him, just how familiar this story really was: because that was exactly how Marianne Campbell’s story went, except for the finest details of course, and he’d laughed, hollow and cold, as he brought his hands up to cradle his face. Hide his tears. _“She told me her story,”_ he had said, baring the one thing between Mary and himself that he’d never once told another soul. _“She told me about this, she told me as a bedtime story. Marianne Campbell and her war against the system.”_

 _“They made her believe I was there,”_ John had said, his voice heavy with emotion. _“She was just so angry. She blamed me. She said, ‘if you were there, John, I wouldn’t have said yes’. And I never tried to tell her that it was a lie, that they made her think I was there. I thought she hated me. I thought she despised me, but when I heard her tell you that story for the first time, it changed me. It changed me and made me believe in what she was fighting for.”_

 _“She died believing her mate didn’t do anything to stop her torture,”_ Gabriel had muttered. He looked… small, defeated. He didn’t look like Gabriel at all.

 _“So what then?”_ Dean had asked, because he couldn’t quite demand anything. He was feeling weak. He felt small and insignificant, all of a sudden, in the face of something as big as this. _“What happened? What did they do to her?”_

 _“Not to her as much as to_ you _,”_ Michael corrected, and Dean had glared at him. _“They didn’t change her. They experimented on_ you _, Dean, made you the perfect little weapon you are today. Unfortunately for your… tormentors, Mary made sure that there were only a few chosen people who knew how the synthesized gene worked—the gene that makes you as different from all of us as your Alpha status from a Beta’s.”_

The way he’d said it, it made the hairs at the back of Dean’s neck rise. There was more to this part of the story than he was hearing and— _“how? How did she—how did mom make sure of it?”_

John’s smile was… a little unhinged, to be honest. _“She poisoned them. The effects weren’t immediate, of course—your mom was a genius. She made sure they’d die when she was ready to get you out.”_

_“So no one knows how it works?”_

There was a ringing silence, after his words. A ringing silence where everyone seemed to turn to Gabe, who suddenly didn’t look small. He was determined, and brave—and an Alpha. _“There are only three living people who knows how it works,”_ he’d said. _“I’m one of them. The other—he’s the one we should be worried about, because I thought he died in the chaos. I don’t think he did.”_

 _“No one does, Gabe,”_ Michael had agreed, _“and I think he’s responsible for all the missing kids. I think—”_

 _“Do you think the madman’s repeating it?”_ John had asked, looking panicked all of a sudden. Then, Dean didn’t understand why—why would he panic? He should be… angry, righteous about it.

But now he understands. John had accepted that his mate—and family—had perished in a fight to stop a madman from creating something no one fully understands, that he has been stopped. Forever. To know that everything he lost was lost for nothing…

Dean had put himself in his father’s position—imagined losing Cas to a fight that would one day be proven useless, his mate’s death worthless in the long run. It didn’t make him angry. It made a pit in his stomach open and almost suck him in—the vacuum so strong that Dean almost believed it was true. That his mate really did die. And he’s understood, how his father had felt. There was a bit of guilt mixed in there, too, but he’d ignored that, and kept himself quiet, listening to the answer to his father’s question.

 _“Let’s all hope not,”_ Michael had said, real quiet, the _quiet_ that said _let’s just hope it’s not as bad as we’re all thinking it is, because it probably is_.

Now here he is, curled up in his hotel bed, trying to… to cope with everything he’s just learned. Michael had given him an envelope, something real old, but Dean isn’t willing to read it here, in a stupid motel, not when Michael had said it was from his mom. He wants to open something somewhere warm and cozy and _safe_ , like home. Like with Cas.

He snorts at himself.

 _When did you become such a sentimental fucking idiot?_ he asks, hoping Dean, Jr. is around, sentient enough to answer the question.

_You always have been. It’s what made you weak._

_Gee, thanks, li’l Dean. I really wanted that._

_I will not be little any longer._

He rolls his eyes at himself. He wonders if he’s schizophrenic—pretty sure it’s not normal to be hearing a voice at the back of your head argue against you _intelligently_. He rolls over and takes a hold of his phone, holding it up to his face.

He’d promised Cas he’d call when they land, but…

Actually, there was no excuse.

It’s probably still early enough over at Seraph that calling Cas now wouldn’t be waking him up… right?

He sighs, and presses Cas’s speed dial on the phone. He rolls onto his back and holds the phone against his ear, listening intently to the ambient ringing as the call tried to connect.

He counted nine rings before Cas finally picked up.

“Babe,” Dean breathed, not waiting for a greeting or whatsoever. Just that Cas answered the phone… he isn’t sure, but he feels as feel something big should have changed, but that his mate is still at the other end of the line, still answering his calls? It soothes something ragged in Dean that he doesn’t know he’d been scratching.

“Hello, Dean,” Cas says, and Dean sighs in relief. He melts into the mattress holding his weight, tension seeping out of his joints and muscles, because it doesn’t matter that his mate isn’t here, with him, physically. “How was the flight?”

 _Horrible. Fucking horrible, especially without you._ “It was great,” he lies. “Gabe annoyed the fuck outta me, but it was awesome.”

There’s a chuckle, but it sounds dry. Tired. “I’m glad. Aren’t you tired, love?”

Dean frowns. “I wanted to call you before I fell asleep. Hey, babe? Is something wrong?”

Cas is silent on the other end of the line, long enough to make Dean start rethinking his earlier sentiments. _Shit_ , of course things will change—what the hell did he expect? He couldn’t possibly—

“We might as well let you know now,” Cas says, taking Dean right out of his headspace with his tone. He sounds… exhausted. “One… _Lisa Braeden_ came to visit today, she was looking for you. The gates have opened to Seraph and she knows your address. She wishes to speak with you about… her child.”

Dean feels a pit at the bottom of his stomach open and suck his insides. It feels worse than his earlier mind landscaping, when he imagined Cas dead, because this time it feels like it’s _Cas_ delivering the death blow. “L-Lisa?” he says. He hasn’t said that name in such a long time. It still pulls something inside him, saying her name, remembering what he’s lost. “Her kid? What’s wrong? Did something happen to Ben?”

“She says she needs your help in raising him, Dean,” Cas answers, voice devoid of emotion, and right now Dean would give _anything_ to be by his mate’s side, to scent at him, to nose at his neck, to _know what he is feeling_.

“Cas—”

“We’ll talk when you get back, Dean. Be safe.”

“ _Cas,_ wait.” He says it, but he’s the one who waits. When breathing greets his ears and not the dial tone, he sighs in relief. “You do know that Lisa and I are over, right? _Right_?” he repeats, when Cas doesn’t answer.

“I don’t,” he says. “I don’t know anything about your past relationships, Dean. They don’t matter. At least, not to me. Should they?”

Dean bites his lip. Over the years, he and Lisa had still kept in touch—especially after he heard the news of Ben’s father deserting them, he’d tried his best—he visited, every now and then, became a friend to Ben, if not a father figure. He just doesn’t understand why Lisa would come back to Seraph now, all of a sudden—when they’d met, almost ten years ago, she’d been passing by, just looking for a new place to move into.

And she did.

With _him_ , where she stayed for a year and a half before his job came in the way and they’d broken up.

Cas’s sigh on the phone brought Dean from his thoughts and he opened his eyes, but the flat tone on his mate’s voice shushed him.

“We’ll talk when you get back, Dean. Be safe.”

And then the dial tone he’d been dreading to hear.

He groans in frustration, making sure to drop his phone on the bed lest he crush it in his palms. _God_ , how could he be so stupid? The choice was so easy. There wasn’t even a choice—it was just _Cas_. Why couldn’t he have told his mate _that_ when he was on the line? Was he really that desperate to sabotage his own _mating_?

_Yes, yes, yes you are. And that’s the good choice. Makes it easier for me._

“Shut up,” he growls, turning to his stomach and burying his face into the pillow that does not scent like _mate_. It’s impersonal and cold and… fuck. It’s so stupid.

He takes the phone again, this time, to send a message.

 

<12:14 am>  
its not a big deal, babe  
<sent>

<12:15 am>  
sorry. ill see u soon.  
<sent>

 

He hesitates, thinking of doing the last thing he is planning to do, but then he shrugs.

 

<12:16 am>  
I love you.  
<sent>

 

He lets his phone drop to the mattress again, and he closes his eyes. He intends to sleep, but his phone’s buzzing causes him to discard those plans immediately.

 

<9:14 pm>  
You are a fucking idiot, you  
know that? I hate you. I   
should hate you. God damn it.  


Tell me that when you mean  
it.

 

<9:15 pm>  
Good night, Dean.

 

Dean smiles like a dope at his phone. Also, like a dope, he presses a kiss to the screen. And then he closes his eyes, content for the time being, and allows himself the reprieve of sleep.

 

**..--..**

 

Two rooms down from him, Gabriel is the opposite. He is twisting and turning on his hotel bed, his phone clutched close to his chest, which was hurting him like a thousand bullet ants were stinging him _over and over_. Again.

(In retrospect _maybe_ getting stung over and over hurts a little more, but allow him the hyperbole here.)

All he can think of is Kali, and how much he hopes she’d gotten away from their life. “God, I love you,” he tells her, and then smirks—“I’m sorry, did you bite your tongue, babe?”

His smirk falls off of his face almost immediately, though.

Because he will miss Kali, for as long as they are separated, which may as well be forever, judging from the knowing looks at the tarmac earlier. Because now he realizes this is not just some ordinary mission, which is why Cohen and Pellegrino _and_ Winchester senior are all here.

There are only two of them required to pull back at the face of engagement: Dean, and himself.

This is, most probably, a suicide mission for the other three. This is John and Michael trying to do something they should have done years ago. This is Lucifer righting his own brother’s wrongdoings.

This is Gabriel making sure what happened to Dean, never happens to anyone, ever again.

This is all of them, giving Dean the chance to move on—like they never did.

Dean might have been young, when everything went to shit. When Mary Winchester fought against her tormentors and Michael murdered his own boss and fucking _Alistair burned down his home_.

But Dean is the one among all of them affected the most by the events that followed, and he’s the only one among _all of them_ who deserves something more than waiting on their asses, waiting for the other party to move.

He opens his phone, goes to the photo gallery.

The first photo he sees is of his unorthodox family, in Dean’s apartment, last Christmas.

The next one is of the last time Kali had been asleep on his bed.

The one after that is of Castiel, laughing—back bowed and face scrunched up…

He feels a tear fall from his cheek, and he wipes that away hastily.

What a sentimental idiot. It’s not like he’s going to die—none of them is going to die. At least, he hopes not.

He prays and hopes and begs that none of them die, that they all survive this, even though he knows, for certain, by some instinct instilled in him years ago, that at least one of them will die here. For sure.

He turns again, and settles, just as something in him… settles. It felt as if there was a storm, a raging hurricane inside of him—his head, his heart, it didn’t matter, doesn’t, not now, not anymore—that has been going on and on for years, confusing him, making noise, grating on him, and the thought of finally _dying,_ of _rest and silence_ …

It settles something, deep inside of him.

He doesn’t with to acknowledge it, to think of it, to see it as an ideation of suicide, but he can’t help it.

For years he wanted nothing more but peace. He had lived for years before facing Roman because guilt forced him to, because the thought of giving up has always been accompanied by the thoughts of Anna and Mary and Hayden, and because Dana was there and when she wasn’t—there was Michael. He lived the years after because he had Cas, because he finally had something, _someone_ to live for again, someone who he wakes up in the morning for to think, _hey. The kid needs breakfast. Get your butt out of bed and do so_. And when Cas had grown old enough to move out of his apartment into his own, he’d found Kali—

He only just realizes now that he’d never really faced the thought of being _alone_.

He had always had somebody when his family died.

Valentine and Dana rescued him from the old house, when he was trying to crawl towards it, instead of away; Michael had kicked his ass when Dana died and he’d started moping; he kicked his _own_ when he started moping at the presence of _Cas_.

But now his baby brother is mated. The love of his life has left, for her own good. And the only father he has left—well, he’s planning on leaving, too, if only to right a wrong he should have decades ago.

He smiles bitterly at the thought of it. Because it sounds _so much_ like Michael, the angel, the righteous, oldest, most powerful creature after God himself, who would sacrifice his own blood, his own _self_ , for the right, for the light.

But what is _right_ anymore? He just—

_Cas’s smile._

_Kali’s laughter._

_Anna’s kids._

He curls up on his side, bringing a pillow down close to his face so he can muffle his sobs. Because Anna is alive, and he isn’t planning on ever seeing her again. He doesn’t plan on ever seeing her again, at least, not in this plane of existence. In another, maybe—in a universe, a reality where they’re both angels, where they both agree to look after Castiel, where Michael is a big brother instead of a father, where there are mistakes but they don’t try to correct them by _dying_.

He hopes Michael has called Code One.

And he hopes Cas, at least, listens. Or that they have the right mind of get Adam—the kid—and his mom, Kate, outta there when they get the call. He hopes Ellen or Bobby makes the right decision and forces Sam out of that place.

At the moment, he just _hopes_.

 

**..--..**

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> PS. I moved. I'm now at [ theorynpractice ](http://theorynpractice.tumblr.com) (though I might change AGAIN in a few weeks). Please follow me, send me a message, I don't know. Just. Yeah. See you then.
> 
>  
> 
>  
> 
> (Joke. I love you guys. Be safe. :* )
> 
>  
> 
> (Also I just noticed that almost all of my chapters can be summarized best by their last sentences? It's weird. It's like... it's like a conclusion or something. Yeah. Anyway. Wait for me!! Wait for me, my lovelies.
> 
> PS. I am still looking for betas. I need moooooore. I'm a needy bitch. Forgive me :( )
> 
>  
> 
> PPS. If there are some themes I haven't been able to tag in my works, please do inform me. I do not regularly update my tags. Thank you!!)


	12. Chapter 12

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “There was a war, when I was younger,” continues Anna, who doesn’t look at Castiel as she speaks. “It hurt so many people, and I’m afraid it will hurt much more. There is one person who can stop it, but he won’t know how. I do. I do.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> We're finally meeting Anna!!

Castiel stares at his phone as the screen turns dark and he has to put it down lest he threw it across the room. He’s just… so frustrated. He has never been frustrated before, and—he smiles fondly—he realizes, he never has, before mating with one Dean Winchester.

Dean is just so… _so_ … frustrating.

He can’t even get the words right.

He sighs and runs his hands through his hair, blinking blearily at the flashing numbers on the cable box on top of Dean’s television. He wonders how long Lisa and Ben would have waited outside, had he not decided to come over to clean, because Kate had been out with Adam. He wonders… he wonders.

“Uncle Cas?”

He startles at the sound of someone else’s voice invading his space, and he turns where he sits on the couch to find no other than Ben Braeden, in his sleep clothes, dark hair mussed by sleep and holding on to his pillow. He looks scared. Castiel frowns.

“Where’s your mom?”

He had set them both up at the study, where he dragged an extra mattress and gave Lisa comforters and blankets and all extra pillows he could find in Dean’s apartment. He could have left, offered the master bedroom, but he had felt strangely territorial about his and Dean’s first nest.

Kate had offered to stay at _his_ apartment with Adam, but he had refused. So had Lisa.

“She’s asleep,” Ben answers, and steps forward hesitantly. “C-Can I… sit with you, Uncle Cas?”

Castiel can’t find it in himself to say no. So he smiles and shifts, patting the space where his legs were a moment earlier. “What’s wrong, little one?” he asks softly. Lisa had done a good job raising this boy on her own: he is polite, and courteous, and he is a handsome little thing.

“I—I had a nightmare about the strange men again,” he whispers, and his eyes shift from side to side quickly, as if expecting that  simply muttering the moniker would somehow summon these strange men.

Castiel cocks his head to the side, studying the frightened creature before him. “What do you mean, ‘strange men’?”

“They came to my school one day,” the boy answers softly, his hold in the pillow tightening. “They got me. They said they’re taking me home, but they dragged me into their car. I—I ran away.”

Castiel feels his face lose all blood, his mouth lose moisture, because this story sounds familiar. It sounds exactly the same as what had happened to him. “Did they have another child there, telling you it will be okay?”

Ben nods jerkily. “B-But she whispered, she told—told me to run, b-because it’s not safe, Uncle Cas, so—so I ran.”

Castiel shoves a hand up us hair, and then grabs Ben and holds him close to his chest, shushing the child by running a soothing hand up and down his spine.

Ben had almost been taken by Collectors, and he’d felt vindictive about his mother’s relations to Dean. He feels a slither of shame and—in Dean’s words—a shit ton of guilt settle in the pit of his stomach.

 _Fuck_ , of course Lisa would come to Dean—it’s the best call there is. Dean is an Alpha, protective at that, and Seraph is as safe as can be from illegal human trafficking. But there was also a Code One from Michael, earlier in the day—said it was from Gabe.

He hopes Sam had gotten the message. And he hopes that it doesn’t mean what he thinks it means—because Code One is a specific red alert, distress call, whatever to people to _get the hell out of Dodge, they’re coming for you, you’re not safe here, abort mission, please get the fuck out._

Maybe it has something to do with Anna being alive?

He doubts it.

Because he’s pretty sure it has _everything_ to do with the mission they’re all in at the moment. He has a bad feeling about it—actually, he, Sam and Adam have discussed quite _extensively_ during lunch earlier. He had seen Jo and had mentioned it in passing. Even Kate seems to be having a bad feeling about this whole thing—they all are. He frowns, checking the numbers on the clock again.

If he moves now, he can get Kate and Adam out of here—a few hundred miles away, actually—by first light. He’s pretty sure Lisa and Ben will be safe. They can be left behind—he’ll have to convince Sam to leave work for a few weeks, just until Code One has been called off.

And then comes Gabriel’s sister.

He isn’t sure he’ll be able to interact with her without breaking down and crying, after learning what Gabriel had been thinking that happened, for almost twenty-five years now. He’d thought his sister was _dead_. Now, it turns out she’s alive, but she’s in a dangerous place and she needs to get out as soon as possible.

And Castiel is their only hope of doing so.

“Hey, Ben,” Castiel says softly to the body curled against his. “I want you to go back to bed, alright? I’m going out for a little. I’ll be back tomorrow at noon. Would that be alright?”

“Should I tell mom?” asks Ben, who pulls away minutely, just to be able to look up to Castiel.

He smiles at the child. “Yes, but tomorrow, when she wakes up. I left my phone number, so she can call me, but don’t tell her until then, okay? Your mom travelled far. Let her rest.”

Ben nods and sniffs, but he leaves and couch and goes back to study anyway. When he disappears down the hallway, Castiel gets up and walks to the other side—to the guest bedroom. He listens against the door for a second, just to determine whether Kate is still awake. When he hears shuffling inside, he knocks—not waiting for an answer before he opens the door and slips inside, closing the door quietly behind him.

Kate is sitting on the bed, wearing a pair of specs, a book on her lap, reading under the bedside lamp. When she sees whatever expression there is on his face, she clears her throat and closes her book, setting it aside. She straightens her back and pats the bed on her side.

“What is it?” she asks immediately, when he comes forward to sit beside her.

“I want you to pack, right now,” he says quietly, his voice low and calm. The exact opposite of how he really, truly feels, deep inside. He gets the urge to call Dean, but he had been the one to hang up, earlier. It had been a stupid move, and he regrets it. So much. “I’m calling Adam. Change, too—I’m driving you and the boys out of here.”

Kate’s smile is small but amused. “It’s funny, hearing you call Sammy something that denotes him as younger.”

Castiel rolls his eyes, but he snorts. “Don’t tell him I called him that.” He stands up, reaching forward to cup Kate’s cheek in his hand. He isn’t sure what gave him the courage—but in the past two months, he has learned that, in the Winchester family, intimacy isn’t reserved… unless they’re being purposefully sexist, then they’d say _stop the chick flick moment!_ as if being regarded as a ‘chick’ was such a degrading insult.

Then he walks out, grabbing his phone again, already dialing for Adam.

“What is it?” Adam answers on the third ring, an exact replica of his mother’s own response. He smiles at it. “Cas?”

“Pack, Adam. Change. I’m picking you up in half an hour.”

“Is this about that call, earlier?”

“Yes.” Castiel hesitates, but he decides—better he knew. “Adam, I’m getting you and your mom and your brother out of here. Tonight. I want you ready to get away, okay?”

“Yeah, okay. See you.”

“See you.”

He stares at his phone for a few minutes before he brings it out again to call Sam. Sam, who had confessed to him about his plans for himself and Jess. Sam, who he will be taking away from those plans—given, just for as long as Code One is in effect, but he didn’t have to like it.

“Cas?” Sam calls. He sounds tired, sick.

Castiel shakes his head, worried but knowing what he’s going through. “Pack up, Sam. Get to my apartment, wait with Adam. Kate and I’ll be there in a while.”

“Cas?” Sam asks again, worried, now.

“Don’t worry, Sam. It’s just for a little while. Just until they—Gabriel—say it’s safe, alright?”

“A-alright.”

“See you later.”

He hangs up, tapping his phone against his lips as he waits for Kate. He squeezes his pockets, making sure he had his keys and his wallet on him, before turning to stare at the guest bedroom door.

It opens ten minutes later, with Kate wrapped in her coat, scarf hanging off her neck. A backpack is slung over her shoulder. Castiel turns on his heel, waiting for her to leave the front door before turning the lights off and locking the knob.

They almost race to the elevator.

“I got your coat,” Kate says, handing the said item to him, and he smiles at her in gratitude. God, he’d probably freeze his balls off out there if Kate hadn’t gotten it for her.

“Thank you, Kate.” He takes it and shrugs it on, feeling around for his gloves. The scarf he finds in the other pocket, and he fixes it around his neck just as the elevator dings and opens, revealing the lobby. “We’re taking a detour, for a bit. I have to talk to someone.”

_I hope she doesn’t see me as a lying psychopath._

“Alright,” Kate says. “Have you—”

“Yeah.”

“Alright. Good.”

He ignores the valet and goes straight for the parking lot, not wanting to risk anyone detecting that he’s leaving Dean’s apartment at this time. Dean’s probably going to hear about it from someone—Jo, probably, or his friend from the Flight—but he can hold it off, tonight. A sickening feeling sinks in his stomach, but he ignores it and forges forward.

He finds his car easy enough—right next to Dean’s shining Impala, and he smiles bitterly. He doesn’t try to dwell on things that make him feel bad, these days—but remembering his tone with Dean, how brash he had been during their call… he wishes he could at least let Dean know that he isn’t leaving _him_. He’s helping his mate’s family leave _Seraph_. He gulps. There’s suddenly a lump in his throat. His mouth is dry.

There are arms around him, and he collapses against Kate’s arms. He feels tears stinging at his eyes, and he sniffles, wiping at them angrily. Now is not the time to be a sniveling Omega—now’s the time to prove to them just how _efficient_ he is as a Handler. He takes a deep breath, remembering the exercises he’d learned both from his lives before and after Gabriel rescued him.

_In—one, two, three, four—hold! One, two, three, four—out—one, two, three, four, five, six, seven. In… hold! Out—_

“I’m alright,” he finally says, his voice soft, but calm, and… and cold. Efficient. Stoic. “I’m fine. Let’s get this over with.”

Kate lets him go slowly, stepping away as he turns towards his own car, glancing at Dean’s one last time before he unlocks the Continental and allows Kate to slide inside. He revs his engine, fiddles with the heat—and then he’s backing out of the parking lot, leaving the Host Complex. He doesn’t glance back as he turns east—towards the civilian subdivision. He had downloaded Anna’s address before they’d left, hoping to convince her into leaving.

She has a family.

He gulps.

So does he.

 

**..--..**

 

Sam gets to Cas’s old apartment in record time, skidding to a halt just as Adam opens the front door. His younger brother looks just as spooked as he’s feeling, but this is the moment he proves he can be the caretaker, for once. This is where he proves he doesn’t always need to be taken care _of_.

He enters the apartment after giving his brother a brief hug, lugging behind him his bag. He’d been waiting by his phone for Cas’s update after he’d been told about the Code One on him, Adam, Kate, and someone named _Annibeth Milton_. He’ll admit—he’d been tempted to use his terminal to research all that he can on this woman, but something about the urgency of a sudden Code One right after Dean and John leave made him hesitate.

There’s also the issue of the gut feeling he shares with everyone he knows about the mission they’ve just gone to. Annibeth Milton is relevant to them, somehow, and Sam is getting the feeling that she’s the reason Cas and Kate aren’t here yet. He paces the living room, thumb between his teeth, his brain not registering the pain of his teeth gnashing nail and skin together into bloody clumps that will hurt as hell later.

He keeps an eye on Adam, who’s back is rod-straight on the couch, not even talking him off for pacing. He doesn’t like these changes, at all. He wishes he could call Jess. But Jess doesn’t even know he’s on Code One—he doubts he could tell her anything. Even _he_ doesn’t know anything.

He decides to sit besides Adam instead, teeth now abusing his lower lip. He can taste copper in his mouth and he doesn’t distinguish whether it’s blood or fear, and so he jumps when Adam shakes his shoulder, gripping his chin.

“Get your teeth off of your lip, man,” Adam says softly, sounding worried.

Sam lets go of his lower lip and shakes his head at Adam’s worried expression. His mouth feels sore and tender, and he grimaces at the taste of blood on his tongue. If Dean had been here he’d be teased mercilessly for his nervous tells, but Dean isn’t and now Sam feels worried sick for his older brother, suddenly. This must be the first time he’ll be with John for a duration of longer than an hour, and he hopes his brother survives.

Between the two of them, he’d choose Dean—over and over again.

He would, because he knows that if Dean were to be presented any choice and Sam, he’d choose Sam, too. Even if the other choice was Cas. Because that’s just how Dean is, and Sam prays, even though he hasn’t prayed in a long time, that it never comes to that, because he doesn’t want to be the reason anyone ends up getting hurt.

“Where are they?” Adam asks, bringing Sam out of his thoughts. Adam sounds exhausted, all of a sudden, and Sam finally notices the dark circles under his eyes, the pale of his face.

“Are you sick?” Sam asks back instead, because he isn’t sure he’s supposed to answer that question with the truth, and he’d rather not answer than _lie_. “Adam, you look—”

“Sick, I know,” Adam mutters. His eyes are downcast, shoulders slumped. “I just—I miss him. Henry. And…” he bites his lip then, bringing his eyes up to Sam’s almost shyly. “I’m—I’m seeing someone… new. Dr. Barnes’s assistant, Alfie.”

Sam doesn’t know whether he’s supposed to feel sad or relieved for his younger brother. On one hand, he had lost a romantic partner to a life he’d never known he was part of. On the other, he had found someone new, someone—

Someone he’s going to leave behind, just like how he’s about to leave Jess.

_Oh, god._

His heart breaks for this brother of his, this brother of his who has lost as much as he and Dean had, even though it’s in other forms from their grief. This brother, whose young heart has been taken and tortured and broken by a life he did not choose.

_You don’t choose the Seraph life, the Seraph life chooses you._

He snorts, and shakes his head.

“He’ll be fine,” he tells his younger brother, because that’s all he can give at the moment. He doesn’t know what he can say to help Adam feel better. He doesn’t know he even _can_ , but damn it if he won’t die trying. “We’re leaving because someone—Gabriel, according to Cas—determined we won’t be safe here until further notice. Maybe it’s because of something that happened a few years ago, maybe it’s something that’s about to happen. But Seraph isn’t really the fortress it makes us believe it to be.”

“I just—” Adam stops, clears his throat, and tries again. His scent is off, something sour and irritating—something like—no. It’s… it’s Theta fear. “I just wish it doesn’t have to be this way again. I go away, something happens, someone dies. I’m tired of people dying.”

Sam laughs hollowly. “Trust me,” he answers, shaking his head at the thought. “Trust me, I know. I _know_ , little brother.”

“Do you think… we can come back?” Adam’s voice is small when he asks, as if he’s ashamed for even asking. “I know none of you wanted me anywhere near here. I know none of you wanted me to have _anything_ to do with this place, because of—because of… of… of Jimmy. But—Sam, it feels like my whole life— _our_ whole lives lead back to this place, no matter what we do.

“Cas, Dean, you—dad. It feels like there’s… there’s no way out of here, almost. And—and… I don’t. I don’t want to… I don’t think I want to leave Alfie… forever. It’s stupid. We’re both young. I know you’ll say I have more to my _life_ , but I—I found it here, Sam.

“I found it with _him_.”

Sam stares at his younger brother, because he had—he had never thought about their lives like that so much. And all this time, knowing Dean was trying to find a way to get Adam somewhere out of here, _forever,_ preferably, none of them has ever considered that Adam might start creating emotional attachments in the months that he has stayed. He doesn’t think no one noticed his and Alfie’s interactions in the few times they’ve been seen together, but… but he thinks no one believed it could ever amount to anything.

Maybe Dean didn’t believe it ever would, but obviously, they were wrong, because here Adam is, laying it all on the ground that _yes_ , indeed, he has feelings. For Alfie.

“You’re not coming back, Adam,” Sam tells his brother, voice low and emotionless. “We’d all rather die than allow you to come anywhere near here again.”

The scent of bittersweet betrayal he gets in return for his statement is a stab in the heart, but he believes he can live with it. Because once Adam leaves, he’s never coming back here again. _Ever_. Not even John Winchester can do anything to change that.

“Sam,” Adam begins, and Sam just _knows_ he’s going to try to convince Sam that there must be another way, and Sam’s going to tell him _no, Adam, there isn’t_ , and they’re going to fight. He doesn’t want them to fight.

“I’m sorry, Adam,” Sam says, and he turns so he’s looking at his brother. Hurt, cold, betrayed… it hurts Sam to see that expression on his younger brother’s face, but there really isn’t anything he could do, is there? “You’re right. All our lives, they lead back to this place. But they don’t have to. We’re getting you out of here, Adam, and that’s the end of it. I have no idea what’s going to happen next. I don’t even know if, after this, there will still be this place to go back to. I know you’re hurt, and I’m sorry, but this place… this isn’t for you. Maybe we’ll find a way to send Alfie to you when it’s all over. Maybe none of us is going to survive long enough to see _when_ it’s all going to be over.

“But there’s one thing I know, Adam, and that’s that every single person who cares about you wants nothing more but to take you away from this place.”

Adam is silent as he stares at Sam, after his tirade. Sam doesn’t have the energy to fight anymore, so he looks away and stares at the wall behind the television, suddenly finding it much more pleasing than the dark emotions in his brother’s eyes. He is leaving someone else behind, as well—Jess—granted, he’ll see her again one day when he comes back ( _if_ ) but the point is, they’re both going to get hurt when they leave Seraph.

Gabriel was hurt when Kali left Seraph. Now’s no time to feel hurt or selfish, no matter how stupid the logic is. Now is probably the only time they have left to get out of here and still have an idea of what is _safe_.

“It was horrible, you know,” Adam begins suddenly, conversationally, as if they were talking about the weather. The sudden 180 causes Sam to snap his head to the side, watching Adam watch him with expressionless, flat eyes. It makes him uncomfortable, seeing the lack of light in his brother’s usually bright expression. It makes him _cold_ and so, so lonely. He hasn’t felt this isolated since they first moved into Seraph, when Dean was gone so much of the time that Sam thought he might never know the feeling of having an older brother again.

“Adam?” he asks uncertainly, a shiver running down his spine when his brother looks away. He’s sitting with his back straight, head tipped down, staring at his lap.

“At EZ-Tech, I mean, it was horrible. The room they had me in…” Adam chuckles, but without humor. It sounds wrong coming from him. “…it was cold. They made sure it was always freezing, one of their techniques, to break me. They tried to pry it out of me, the knowledge I have on their company. But it’s something they don’t have the right to.

“I called the cops, when I found out, told them half of what I figured out. I knew I should have called Dean. I saw his name. It was right there: _Dean Winchester, subject 01AA00._ But I called the cops.” Adam shook his head, and Sam tensed, because this is the first time that Adam talks about what happened to him months ago, why he got kidnapped, what was done to him. “And those cops… they were being paid to turn a blind eye on illegal activities. It’s so—it’s so fucking corrupt, this world.

“I will never forget the day I was taken, because Henry—Jimmy, that is—was so angry with me. It was the first time I have ever heard him curse and yell so loud. I was scared. And I was sorry. And I asked him, _am I going to be safe? Will I be safe?_ He didn’t know, either, Sam. He told me he’ll try to protect me.

“And he did. They shot him. They _shot him right in front of me_ , before dragging me away. That’s when I realized—they can’t. They can’t know what I know, because there’s only one person who can. It’s Dean. Dean has to know—my laptop, the one you got me, I used to—to get into my old data bank. Give it to Dean, Sam, he has to know, because maybe… maybe he can end it, finally.

“I don’t understand what it all means, but from the things I’ve read, the things I’ve heard them talk about when I was there, being their captive? It’s pure evil. Children are dying, and even more will die if no one does anything.” Adam takes a deep breath. His tone and voice had steadily climbed towards emotional, and though it calms something in Sam to have Adam finally show _some_ emotions, it worried him even more because these emotions are not _normal._ “Your mom was one of them,” he says so softly, so gently, as if his words were going to take away the sudden shock that Sam feels at his words. He stares at Adam as if he can give more answers than what he has already given, and Sam wants to sob at the look of pain in Adam’s eyes.

“What about my mom?” he asks, begs, because he only knows his mom from stories from Dean and as a picture in his father’s wallet. Mary Winchester is a ghost to him, meaning nothing more than the words ‘she was my mother’, because the only parent figure he has ever had was his older brother. But suddenly, suddenly, he feels like a dying man, desperate for any small information he can get on a person who hasn’t lived long enough for him to even _remember_. “I was six months when she died—what, what about her, Adam?”

Adam bites his lip. “I don’t know how you’ll take this,” he says, “but you… you are pretty much the reason she did die.”

Sam gasps as a kind of lancing pain goes through him, takes away his ability to breathe. His chest feels too tight, the world too small, the air too oppressive. He regrets asking Adam the question, but he can’t find the energy or the desire to ask him to stop talking, either.

“She was already dying, understand. Whatever they did to her to change Dean, it’s affected her.” Adam gulps, and then moves until he and Sam are closer on the couch. He puts a hand on Sam’s shoulder, and he is grateful for that small point of contact—small point of comfort. “But it was killing you, too, so she fought. She fought back, and they hurt her, and…” he stops and shakes his head. “I don’t know all the details. I just know that she was killed, and in order to get rid of the evidence, they burned down your old house.

“They didn’t know that Dean and John were there, too. They thought she… and you… were alone. All three of you survived, but no one could pinpoint who did it. The case was closed. It was written off as faulty wiring.”

It’s then that Sam ends up sobbing. He leans forward until his face is against his knees and he cries, he cries for a child whose innocence was taken from him before he could even comprehend the world around him. He cries for a father whose wife was taken from him in the worst way possible. And he cries for a boy whose life was taken from him before it can even start.

“I don’t know the details,” Adam continues. He runs his hands through Sam’s hair, comforting him, trying to make him feel better, “but Sam, if there’s one thing I know, it’s that Seraph and—and whoever had your mom killed, they’re never leaving you or Dean alone. That’s why they wanted me to tell them what I know, because if someone figures out what their weakness is, they can be stopped.”

“And they’d leave us,” Sam mutters. He straightens up, wipes his tears and snot off the sleeve of his jacket. “I want to know what they did to my brother, Adam.”

“ _Our_ brother,” Adam corrects, “and so do I.”

 

**..--..**

 

Castiel is nervous, but his hands don’t shake as he raises one to knock against the wood of the door in front of him. He had parked a few houses down from Anna’s, explaining—stiltedly—to Kate that it’s someone they have to take away from here, too. It’s someone important to Gabe. Someone important to _Dean_ , even though he doesn’t know it yet.

He knocks twice, steps back, and waits. There are a few seconds delay before the porch light turns on—it’s late enough that they must have shut it off—and a few seconds later he’s peering down at James, her dog breathing excitedly behind her. She opens the door fully and stares at him, tilting her head in question.

“Hi,” she says. She doesn’t sound suspicious of him, at least.

He smiles at her. “Hello. Is your mother awake?” he asks, trying to resist the temptation of asking to just come inside. It’s cold outside.

James looks a little distressed at his question, but she steps back and allows him to enter, closing the door behind him. She leads him down the hallway to the sitting room, where a woman is drinking from a mug, snuggled under a blanket. She looks sallow, eyes filled with so much sorrow that Castiel feels her pain as much as his own.

“Mom?” James calls softly, as if she were talking to a spooked animal that might attack at any given moment. “Mom, there’s someone here to see you.”

“Let them inside, darling,” says Annibeth Milton, without looking at her own child. “Let them inside.”

Castiel shivers at the voice that he hears, because there’s something… off about it. About _her_. And maybe it’s from what he’s learned about Gabriel’s—therefore Anna’s as well—history, or maybe it’s from the cold outside, but he rushes to her side and holds her from behind, pressing his face against her hair.

“Oh, my child,” Anna says, as she rubs her hand over his. “What’s wrong?”

“You need to get out of here,” Castiel answers, tightening his hold on her shoulders. “Why did you come back, Anna?”

“I had to,” she says, shaking her head. “I had to come back. It’s coming true, what they said. It’s all coming true and I have to stop it.”

“What do you have to stop? Can’t you do it when you’re somewhere far from here?” Castiel pulls back, but Anna tightens her hold on his hand. He doesn’t try to get away.

“I can’t, I can’t. I shouldn’t have left.”

“You’re not safe here,” he beseeches. He _begs_ , and he’s not proud of it, but this is something he can do for Gabe, and he will do it willingly. He will do it again, with his whole heart, if it means getting Anna out of here. Somewhere safe. “You have to leave. We’re going tonight. Please pack,” he directs to James, who is standing, frozen and perplexed, where he’d left her. “James,” he repeats, and she looks at him, “please go pack for your mother and yourself. We are leaving.”

“Where are we going?” James asks, her arms crossing defensively over her chest.

“Somewhere _safe_ ,” he says. Even he doesn’t know where they can go, but he has an idea: Henry’s home. It’s possible that whatever forces are coming for them here will go there next when they’re not around, but he hopes he can find an alternative before it happens. At the moment it’s the only plan he has, and he feels sick to the stomach that he might be heralding them to slaughter without a plan, but at least they’re not going in blind.

“Listen to the man, Jamie,” Anna says. James stays in her position for a moment longer before she runs away, towards the bedrooms to pack, hopefully. “There was a war, when I was younger,” continues Anna, who doesn’t look at Castiel as she speaks. “It hurt so many people, and I’m afraid it will hurt much more. There is one person who can stop it, but he won’t know how. I do. I do.”

“That’s why you came back,” Castiel murmurs, one of his hands coming up to smooth Anna’s hair. “You came back to teach him how to stop it.”

Anna’s laughter, when it comes, is brittle and cold and sends a shiver down Castiel’s spine. “I can’t _teach him_ ,” she says. “They’ve changed him in ways he shouldn’t have changed. But I know how to _make him_ stop the war. I can. But I’m not the only one. There are others who know, but they don’t understand what they know. They’re dangerous.”

“So are you, then,” Castiel says. But he isn’t afraid of her. He is afraid _for her_ , for the knowledge that she has, for her comprehension of it. And for the other person, whoever it is, because he has a feeling he knows who it is. And it makes him cold. “Which is why we have to go, Anna.”

“It’s in the blood,” she says. “It’s all in the blood—in yours, in his, in mine. There’s no running away from the blood we’ve been given. We’ve been… cursed with.”

“How do you do it, then?” he asks. “How do you make him stop the war?”

“What kills most of us, it makes him stronger. What kills most of us. He is stronger.”

“Anna,” Castiel begs, his voice trembling in his desperation to get her back on track. “Tell me, Anna, what do you have to do to make him stop the war?”

Suddenly she turns, and she’s holding his head so he can’t move, staring at him beseechingly. “ _What kills you? What makes you weaker than him? It’s what makes him stronger_.”

“Mom!”

James pulls Anna away from Castiel at that moment, and all three of them are breathing hard, as if they’ve run a marathon. Anna’s tears are bright with what suspiciously look like tears, but they are wiped away too quickly for Castiel to properly determine whether they are or not.

“I’m sorry,” Anna says, taking deep, calming breaths before taking the bag James had dropped on the floor on her shoulder. “We should go. It’s almost midnight.”

Castiel frowns at her. “Are you okay?” he asks. He’s worried. “I’m sorry—I shouldn’t have done this in such short notice. It’s just that—”

“It’s alright,” Anna interrupts, sniffling. “It’s okay. Lead the way.”

Castiel hesitates. “Castiel Novak,” he finally says, offering her hand to Anna. “Gabriel took me in ten years ago.”

Tears spring back into Anna’s eyes at Gabriel’s name, and she comes forward to cup Castiel’s face again—gently, this time. Tender. “I can see,” she says softly. “I can see him in you. He’s grown so much.”

Castiel takes her hands in his, pressing his mouth against her palm. “He wants you to be safe,” he tells her, just as soft. “He wants you as far away from here as possible.”

“I trust you,” she answers. Resolute, certain. Brave. “I trust you.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> [ Tumblr ](http://ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com)
> 
>  
> 
> It has been a month. The semester has ended, and I am happy!!!! As a treat (to myself and you if you're still reading this) I'm posting this chapter today. Lol.


	13. Thirteen

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> “Cas,” Adam says, “Cas, I know how to end this whole thing.”
> 
> “What are you two talking about?” Sam asks. The other three had fallen right back asleep. “Also—who the hell put a spoon in my mouth?”
> 
> “The toothfairy,” Adam answers, “and nah, it’s nothing. We’re just playing mental chess.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> HEY EVERYBODY i am back with more of the Bloodlines Project ahsejanekjsnfnlajen i apologize for the ULTRA LONG WAIT IT HAS BEEN A YEAR I AM SO SORRY but i struggled a lot this whole year, but i'm back now! I have a few weeks left of my summer break before third year of college starts in August, so i might be able to give you one more chapter before then!!!!!! 
> 
> anyway, here ya'll go. a lot of dialogue in this chapter, but we also finally have Adam's POV

Introductions are quick between Anna and Kate, and soon they’re driving to Castiel’s old apartment. There’s a certain degree of mistrust in the air, but it isn’t enough to have them clawing at each other, at least. Kate is restless where she sits on the passenger side, eyes moving from the side mirror to the rearview mirror to Castiel and then back again.

“Relax, Kate,” Castiel says, pulling up all the training he has had and using the tone he only uses when he’s dealing with pigheaded sons of bitches who think they can push him around. “What’s wrong? Sam is with Adam. I’m pretty sure both of them are okay.”

“It’s not Adam I’m too worried about,” she whispers. “It’s _you_. I may not know everything about this place, but I do know that what you’re doing is something bad. Something bad enough to get you in trouble, even.”

Castiel smiles. There’s something about the Winchester family and self-sacrifice that totally gets to him whenever he sees it. “That’ll be my problem.”

“Dean doesn’t even know, does he? You’re doing this all on your own.”

He looks at her briefly before turning the corner that led to his old street. “He knows I’ve done worse things of my volition. He doesn’t control every single aspect of me, you know.”

“But this is his _family_.”

Castiel stops the car. “Whether you agree to come or not means nothing to me. I’m still getting Anna and James out of here.”

That was a _lie_. But he leaves the car, anyway, jogging to the entrance of the apartment and running up the stairs to the third floor. The guilt of leaving Kate and Adam here would _kill_ him, and maybe he’d end up doing something as extreme as drugging the both of them so they don’t fight as he takes them away.

The door to his apartment bangs open before he even reaches it, and Adam comes storming out. His eyes look red and swollen, and Castiel stops as Sam follows him out. “Adam,” Sam says, “Adam, we’ll get him out of here too, okay? You just have to _wait_.”

“I am so tired of _waiting,_ Sam!” Adam answers, turning to face his brother – hands thrown up in exasperation or frustration, Castiel doesn’t know. He stays right where he is, on the corner of the hallway, watching the both of them argue about something.

“I don’t want to just sit around and wait anymore,” Adam continues. “I can _do something_ if you just _let me_.”

Sam clenches his jaw. “No. Cas is gonna be here any minute now, and you’re leaving. That’s it.”

“Sam—”

“There is no point in arguing, Adam. We can’t have you stay here any longer than we already have. You _can’t_. You’re going to wherever Cas thinks is safest for you. You’ll see each other again, Adam. It’s not the end of the world.”

Adam stays silent and obediently follows Sam into the apartment. Castiel gives them a few more minutes before following suit, knocking on the door before pulling it open. “Sam? Adam?” he calls. The hallway light is off, but he can see light from the living room.

He finds the both of them on the couch, Sam zipping a travel bag closed while Adam uncurls from where he’s seated on the couch at the sight of him. “Are you two ready?”

“Yeah,” Sam answers.  “Let’s go, Adam.”

Castiel bites his lip, and then lets out a breath. “Ellen agreed to a three-week leave, Sam. I’ll take care of the rest of the paper works.”

Sam tenses, and slowly rises to his feet. He turns to Castiel, face blank but obviously annoyed. “What.”

“I mean you’re staying out of Seraph for as long as possible,” Castiel answers. “I’m not afraid of you. You can show off your size all you want, but you’re not going to get me to back down. You’re staying away from this place, Sam.”

“And _you’re_ not?” Sam growls. “You can’t decide for all of us, Castiel.”

“So just because you’re the most important person to _Dean Winchester_ you think _you_ can?” Castiel challenges, tipping his head back in defiance, meeting Sam’s eyes. “I’m not afraid of you. I’m _not afraid of Dean_. Get your asses to the car. Now.”

“Cas—”

“This is not the time to be arguing about this, Sam. You’re going to leave, and that’s it. There is nothing for you here. Why can’t you see that? Even if you stay here, there’s nothing waiting for you. There’s _no one_.”

“I have _Jess_ –”

“Jess is about to die.”

Sam opens his mouth, about to protest, and Castiel can hear what he’s about to say but the shock registers as soon as his voice comes out and it turns into a gasp. There are no words, no more arguments. Just Sam, standing there, hand outstretched as if he wanted to grasp something and forgot what it was.

“I’m sorry,” Castiel says, finally. “I’m sorry, but that’s the reality of it, Sam. I am _not_ risking you staying here for something as… as unstable as that.”

Sam says nothing as Castiel takes his elbow, pulling him along with him. Adam follows them silently, maybe finally understanding what it really meant to be here, maybe not. All Castiel can think of right now, really, is to get them the Hell out of here as soon as possible.

 

**..**

 

The drive is quiet. Too quiet, with nothing but the sound of the engine and rubber on asphalt. Sam isn’t looking at anything in particular, gaze trained on the horizon as he stares out of the window. Adam had taken Castiel’s phone and had been twiddling with it for the past hour. James is asleep on Kate’s shoulder, sitting beside her Anna, who stares out of the window as well.

Castiel couldn’t help but keep glancing back at them, hoping he could somehow say something, _do_ something, to make the heavy atmosphere a little lighter. He knows that what he’d said to Sam was cruel, but at the moment it was what he thought Sam needed – a cruel awakening. Sam shouldn’t be as naïve as he was acting. Sam should know better.

But he couldn’t do anything, so he steps on the gas and hopes they get to their destination before daybreak.

A glimpse at Adam decides for him where that destination lies, finally. He’d never really thought about it too hard. He had thought that maybe driving for a few hours would give them enlightenment, but maybe Henry’s house was the best place to go at this point. If they’re declared missing – Adam, especially – it will be one of the first places Seraph will check, but right now all the Seraph executives are in a mission and the man in charge won’t even know anything is wrong until Sam’s three-week leave is over and he doesn’t start reporting.

That’s more than enough time for him to be able to move them somewhere else. With Lisa and her son, maybe – they’re not directly connected to anyone but Dean, but Castiel is his Handler and they aren’t on any of his files so they’re safe. Planning is making the drive feel a little easier, and he takes a deep breath.

They can do this.

They can get away. If he has to risk his life making sure they’re never pulled back again, then so be it.

 

**..--..**

 

Too much tension is never good for anybody, but it’s especially bad for a Theta. Thetas are genetically designed to be liberated: they have no leadership obligations, nor do they have support roles; they don’t even hold the almost exclusive right to childbirth. They’re an _extra_ sex, not necessary, but would put the world into chaotic imbalance should they disappear. The Alpha-Beta-Omega trio may be the end all be all of society, but a pyramid can only be stable if a fourth support holds its weight from behind.

That’s what the Thetas do. They remind society that _no_ , _you can’t do that_ , you can’t venerate one sex and sneer at the other. You cannot treat one like gods and throw the other around as rags. You cannot continue to ignore the important role of what falls in the middle, not with _this_ right in your faces.

Tension means there’s something waiting to be released—the longer it holds, the more painful the impact is going to be. Some tension dwindles into nothing. _This_ tension, almost causing Adam and Kate both to choke on their breaths, was an example of the former. It’s the kind of tension that a rubber band holds when you stretch it beyond capacity. It’s the kind of tension that a bungee cord is put through when someone jumps off a cliff.

It’s the kind of tension that _snaps_ , and hurts everyone and everything on all sides. Adam closes his eyes and tries not to dwell on the flash of blond and blue that shows up in his subconscious, instead concentrating on a voice he had grown accustomed to, grown _fond_ of. A voice he would never hear again. He takes a deep breath and stares at Castiel’s phone again, feeling a little guilty, but a bit more determined. He doesn’t care what Sam has to say. Somehow, the thought of rebelling against what Dean might think of his decision sends a bolt of excitement through that adolescent part of him that never really got to go against someone’s wishes and expectations for him.

He starts tapping about the contraption with more fervor than before.

Henry had scolded him once. They had been about to eat dinner—sautéed vegetables with fried rice and pork tofu, his absolute _favorite_ —but Adam was yet to put down the newest addition to his growing number of gadgets. Henry had waited patiently for five minutes, before grabbing the tablet from his hands and flinging it over his shoulder. Adam, then, had been to flabbergasted to react, until he heard the tell-take crunch of breaking glass. And _then_ he had almost yelled.

 _Almost_ , but only because of the way Henry had looked at him. _‘There’s only you and me in our world, Adam,’_ he had said, voice soft but stern. _‘You’re the only one I have, I’m the only one you have. You can’t turn me away, you can’t isolate yourself, you can’t pull back. Wasn’t that the deal?’_

Well, honestly, it hadn’t been. The deal was that Henry would take care of Adam and Adam would take care of him in return, at least until he Presented. When he Presented as Theta at 16, Henry had proposed mating. And thus began their long-winded courtship that ended when Adam had been kidnapped and Henry had sacrificed himself to make sure he stayed alive.

His hands fall slack around the device he holds in them and the phone falls on his lap, the dull ache of it hitting his thigh nothing to the sudden barrage of pain that assaults everything that has ever made him _aware_. He is in so much pain that he clutches his head and groans, leaning forward to push his face into his legs, trying to find a way to alleviate the _pain pain pain painpainpainpain._

It’s starting to overwhelm him, make him feel like he’s drowning in a sea of his own miseries, when someone taps his shoulder and he gasps, pulling away from the touch. He looks, eyes wide and wild, at Castiel—hand outstretched and mouth open. At the backseat Sam is looking at him, concerned and puzzled, while James looks like a rumpled puppy. Anna and Kate both seem like they’re just about ready to climb over the backseat to be with him in front. He smiles at them, feeling faint and weak.

“I’ll be fine,” he says, “just motion sickness.” He clears his throat and reaches for the dashboard compartment where he had seen Castiel stock some crackers and water. He takes one bottle and drinks, half of it gone by the time he decides to take a break for air. He closes the bottle tight, throws it back into the compartment, and looks out of the window after shutting it closed. He leans his forehead against the glass, its coolness relieving to the unbelievable pain in his head. He still doesn’t know where it even came from. The memories? The pain of finding out his first love was dead? Finally understanding that he might have just lost his last chance at a partner?

The thought of _Alfie_ makes the pain go away, and he sighs at the relief. Maybe it was Alfie, then. They _were_ supposed to meet up for a midnight movie, and now he’d stood the guy up. Maybe Alfie was cursing him to high heavens. Maybe he even asked for Pamela’s help—Adam just _knows_ there’s some voodoo going on with that woman. He doesn’t fight the smile that makes its way to his face, at the thought of Alfie possibly cursing.

He had been the _sweetest_ , most gentle thing, ever. He was quiet and he had turned so adorably red when Adam visited the hospital a month after being discharged to ask him out on a date, stuttering something about doctor-patient propriety and blushing even _harder_ when Pamela had teased him about him, telling him to just go have fun and make time for an actual boyfriend.

His brothers might never understand, might never be able to _see_ that the three months he had spent with them in Seraph had been, by far, the best in his life. If— _when_ , he corrects himself, fiercely—all of this ends and the time comes that all of this becomes just part of the stories they’ll talk about on Christmas eve dinner, he’ll probably laugh at himself and the reasons he gives as to why it has become the best time of his life. It’s not even because it’s the time right after the worst Hell he has been through—it’s not even the fact that he can finally be with Kate again, after two years of not even being able to _call_ , all because of John Winchester and His Douchebagerry.

He sees the past three months as the best in his life because he finally found a _reason_ to think he can have the best time in his life. And he’s holding it in his hands—literally. He was able to snatch his hard drive from the torture room they kept him in, at EZ ent, before he was rescued. That hard drive doesn’t exist anymore, of course. It’s sitting, burnt to a crisp, in a cement bucket of lye at the bottom of one of Seraph’s park’s lakes. He smiles wryly at himself, remembering the way Alfie had looked at him as they threw the heavy block of concrete into the water.

 _‘I don’t know what happened,’_ Alfie had said, reaching forward to hook his fingers through Adam’s, _‘and I don’t know what you’re planning, but I want to help.’_ And then, of course, in true Alfie fashion, he had blushed to the roots of his hair, almost glowing red in the dim light of the park’s headlamps. _‘I-If you’d let me, of course.’_

Adam had laughed at him then, pulling him forward and they stood there for a while, just holding each other. It was the night after their first date, and as Adam stares out of the window, watching the dark shadows of trees and buildings flash by, he laughs at _himself_ for his romantic ideas. _Romantic does not exist in the Winchester genealogy, apparently_.

“Do you want to sleep?” Castiel asks softly, and Adam turns to look at him. A glance at the rearview mirror shows all four of the others are asleep, too—Anna against the window, James and Kate with their heads together, and Sam with his head leaning back against the headrest, mouth gaping. Adam grins and climbs onto his knees, ignoring Castiel’s hiss of “be _careful_ ” as he pulls up Castiel’s phone camera and snaps several pictures of Sam.

He sits back down and scrolls back and forth, snickering at the images. “Sam is going to _kill_ me,” he says.

Castiel is smirking as he reaches to the compartment, ruffling through the objects in there before coming up with a spoon. Adam’s face brightens when he says, “want to turn it into cold-blooded murder?”

He takes the spoon and very carefully inserts it into Sam’s mouth, twisting his body this and that to be able to take a selfie with Sam. He sits back down, leaving the spoon in Sam’s mouth before tucking his seatbelt on. He outright laughs this time, as he looks through the pictures on Castiel’s phone.

“Please don’t lose your phone,” Adam says, his smile turning serious. Everything he has learned, everything he had found out—the Bloodlines Project, the Cage, the experiments—the very reason for which he was kidnapped and tortured for half a year, they were all in Castiel’s phone, now. He doesn’t know why he decided to put everything in there, why he decided to destroy his laptop with a home-made virus that rendered it useless, and all other devices and programs that tried to enter it burnt from the inside out. He just knows that, if they want this all to end, it’ll have to start with them.

With _him_.

Sam can say all he wants about how Adam has nothing to do with Seraph, but that isn’t going to be true now. They killed his friends, his first love, and they’re killing his family. He isn’t going to stand by with what information he has and just… let what happens happen.

“Adam?” Castiel calls, and Adam smiles at him.

“It’s nothing,” he says. “I just… thought I wanted Dean to see them, when he comes back.”

There’s a beat of silence. “You’ll see each other again,” he answers, his tone fierce and decided. Resolute. “I’ll make sure of it.”

“You’re not staying with us, are you? You’re going to leave us and you’re walking right back into Seraph, all alone.”

Castiel breathes out. “The longer I stay there, the less they’ll suspect that something’s changed. Dean’s out on a mission, and Sam has always been sickly—they’ll think it’s for health reasons. John isn’t here, either. And you’re from the Outside. They’ll think you got tired of life in there and just left. If _I_ leave, too, it makes things suspicious. I’ve never left before, never tried, even when they declared my brother missing two months after a mission was supposed to end.”

“What happened, then?”

“He got caught up in something bigger. It’s over now, at least. He dismantled the syndicate, saved the kids. Came home.”

Adam stays silent, thinking of Gabe—small, sarcastic, asshole Gabe—suffering, and a new kind of anger sparks in him. He clutches at Castiel’s phone even tighter, taking a deep, steadying breath. “Do you want to know?” he asks.

Castiel is silent.

“Why hasn’t anyone asked me, Cas?” he tries again. “I was kidnapped, tortured, I was hurt. They sent someone to rescue me. But they never asked, never even questioned why I was still there if I wasn’t volunteering information. Why?”

“I don’t know,” Castiel says slowly. Adam looks at him, to see him lick his lips. “A… A few months before the mission to rescue you, we got an anonymous tip.” He glances at Adam before staring at the road again. “And I only know this because of Gabe. The Collectors Syndicates have begun to glue together, their operations moving in much larger scales. You might think they’re getting sloppier, more reckless, but on the contrary, it’s become harder to catch them.

“And then, suddenly, as if there was a switch, everything stopped. Well, slowed down, more like. They went back to lowkey operations, kidnapped less kids, sold less, too. It was around the time you were kidnapped. Whatever information you got from them, it was dangerous and delicate enough that they had to pull back operations to take care of you.”

Adam feels very, very cold. He gulps and opens Castiel’s phone, looking at the brightened screen, staring at the funny picture of Sam sleeping with a plastic spoon in his open mouth. “They didn’t pull back operations,” he says, feeling hollow and very, very scared. “I—they were looking for something, among the files that I found.” His hands begin shaking so he puts Castiel’s phone in his jacket pocket and wipes his palms against his jeans. “I found it. They almost got it out of me.”

Castiel is quiet. “What kind of information was it?”

Adam wishes he never put it in another device and just let it burn in acid at the bottom of a lake. Why had he preserved this information?

“Adam, what kind of info was it? What did you find out?”

“I found out how it worked,” he answered, finally. “I found out how it worked and they wanted to know. I almost told them because I thought it wasn’t anything important.”

Castiel curses. “This is only a conjecture, and a baseless one at that. Twenty years ago, there was a divide in the administration of Seraph when Naomi Carter stepped down, leaving a power vacuum she wanted filled by her nephew. Michael.

“I wasn’t here yet. I still had parents, then—but, but this is a story I’ve heard told over and over. During that time, some sort of incident happened. John—your father—Michael, Gabriel’s family… they were all right there, caught in the middle. A lot of people were hurt. Mary Winchester died. Those who started the war—who wanted to _change_ Seraph, whatever the hell that meant—left and they never looked back. Those who survived don’t ever talk about it.

“One of those people were your father. If your Bloodlines is the same as the Bloodlines that started it all twenty years ago, then I think the reason they never asked questions was because they didn’t want to know. They know all the things you do—and they protected you for it. But if you had knowledge they didn’t have, they wanted it in their hands, but not in their minds.”

Realization hits Adam in the pregnant silence that follows, and he laughs. It’s short and loud and startles the others awake, but he feels like the weight had been lifted off his shoulder. He had felt afraid that Seraph would kill him for that he had found out, for finding it the way he did. He was the last person in their group of friends alive to be able to talk. His fear had grown with each passing day that no one asked him questions, thinking maybe they just _wouldn’t_ and they’d just decide to put him out of his misery without knowing what he knows.

Now he realizes that none of them, not the people involved in starting this, not the very people who had experimented on human _infants_ , knows what he knows. And they were either keeping him alive to use his information when they need it, or keeping him safe from the very people who want to use it for evil.

“Cas,” Adam says, “Cas, I know how to end this whole thing.”

“What are you two talking about?” Sam asks. The other three had fallen right back asleep. “Also—who the hell put a spoon in my mouth?”

“The toothfairy,” Adam answers, “and nah, it’s nothing. We’re just playing mental chess.”

Sam doesn’t look like he believes him. To be honest, Adam doesn’t even believe himself, but he smiles at Sam and gets comfortable. “I’m going to sleep,” he announces. He ignores Castiel’s questioning look and Sam’s pointed silence. He has to plan, slowly and properly.

He may have to put people in danger. He may even have to betray everyone’s trust. But this has got to end. His brothers, his _father_ , had suffered enough. He opens his eyes again and looks out the window, feeling his heart ache for the man who never had the chance to be a father. His heart aches for John and how he must have felt—finding refuge in a woman who cared for him, only to lose his second chance at being a father when the world turns on him a second time.

Suddenly he sympathizes with John, the man who lost control of everything. Adam doesn’t think he can forgive John easily, but he promises he’ll be a little less harsh, a little less rejecting of the man when they have the chance to meet and talk again. John is, after all, the one man who had lost the most. The man who will probably lose more, if Adam doesn’t plan his moves carefully.

He only closes his eyes to sleep when the sky begins turning a lighter shade of black, letting them know that sunrise is close by. They’ve been driving for six hours now, and no one seems to be following them.

He falls asleep to the thought of being able to hold Alfie in his arms again.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> i didn't start shipping alfie/adam until this chapter wtfffff


	14. Chapter 14

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> The irony of everything, huh? It almost feels like the universe is trying to laugh at him, trying to rub his misery into his face.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ~~casually drops by with a new chapter after a year-long hiatus lmao~~
> 
> (i'm so sorry)
> 
>  **warnings**  
>  a lot of self-doubt, and maybe some self-loathing. my laptop's all funky rn, so formatting might be ridiculous, too - i'm writing with wordpad lmao. all mistakes are mine. ~~give me love ples~~

Dean wakes up feeling just as exhausted—maybe even _more_ —when he wakes up. His thoughts come to him slow and sluggish, like honey—except they aren’t sweet. They’re vicious and cutting and they make him hate himself more and love the world less. It has been over nine hours since Gabe had talked to him about his own past—his own history he didn’t know anything about—but he still doesn’t really understand why.

Why would they do that?

What made them think they had the right to do something like that?

He thinks of his mother, and he understands why Gabe started the tale with the story of how his mother fought, what she had fought for, _why_. They probably thought (and, had he been a different person altogether) he'd never be able to forgive her. But what was there to forgive?

Who was he, anyway, to have the right to choose whether he could forgive his mother or not? Mary had been _strong_. She went through some shit that Dean couldn't even _imagine_ , and he had spilled the blood of people he once thought he cared about. He gets nightmares, he hears their voices—even in the darkness of oblivion, he hears them call his name, ask him _why_.

His mother had gone through _worse_. He slowly flips himself over, burying his face into the thin excuse of a pillow under his head. It smells of medicated fabric conditioner, sweat, and his own shampoo. It doesn't give him any comfort at all—and or a moment he allows himself to feel regret for turning down Cas's offer of a lock of hair.

 _For good luck,_ Cas had said.

 _For my sanity,_ Dean had thought. He sighs, loud and long, before flopping on his back again. He stares at the ceiling fan, moving on its slowest setting, allowing air to circulate in the room. Maybe he should get up, get out of bed - there must be _something_ in this shithole he can do. He can go exploring - aside from what Gabriel had told him, he doens't know anything about the place, after all.

Maybe there are ghosts here, somewhere. Maybe, in some parallel universe, he lives a life where he doesn't have to worry about where he can hide his weapons so that they'll be accessible in an emergency. In another life, he'd have been happily raised by his mother, and there's none of this horror movie shit that just suddenly became his life.

 _Maybe, maybe, maybe_. There really isn't much that will happen, that will _change_ , if he keeps thinking _maybe_. He fortifies himself with a deep breath, and then jumps out of bed. The air is warm and musty, and he immediately feels sweat slowly making its way down his neck. _Temperate climate is not for me,_ he thinks, before he grabs his t-shirt from last night and puts it on.

His room sits across from Gabriel's, and it's still closed. There's a clock above the door that reads something just past 7 am. A little early to be up on most days, but he'd have gotten a beating if he was still in the Academy. _Thank Seraph I'm out, then,_ he thinks, remembering lazy days where he didn't want to do anything by cuddle up to Cas and -

He stops his thoughts. Remembering those lazy days do no good for his mental state - they just remind him of the texts from last night - _were they really just from last night???_ \- and reminds him that his bed is, indeed, lacking of a mate, and he misses aforementioned mate every time he remembers he even has one in the first place.

He hopes he _still_ has one, after this is over.

He leaves their suite and is greeted by the early morning sun, already beating down on the earth and making it hard to breathe. The wooden paneling of the floor and walls look bizarre in the bright light, and Dean wonders how it looks from down the hill. Painted white, it probably looks like a beacon to the rest of the village, especially where it's sitting on top of the highest hill.

He goes left, first. There are two more doors down the hallway from theirs before the stairs going down. There is no fire exit visible from where he's standing. He reckons those are at the back - he'll have to confirm later when he gets back. The stairs are covered by a tarpouline canopy, a single lightbulb (that he remembers barely flickering last night) hanging off of its cord wrapped around a beam. There are seven steps in total, before the landing; he goes down and counts fourteen more before the third floor.

He makes a circuit of all floors until he gets to the lobby, where there's a small girl playing on her phone by the front desk. She flickers her eyes up to him when his foot comes in contact with a creaking floorboard - _rookie mistake, Winchester; fourth board from the post_ \- but doesn't bother with him until he makes it to the desk. He leans on the shining mahogany surface, his eyes surreptitiously checking up what's behind the glass - a telephone, a notepad, a computer, and two printers. It's neat and simple.

"Um," the girl says, "can I help you?"

Dean snaps into focus and pulls up his most charming smile, turning it up a hundred watts in a plea to charm the girl, only to twitch in place when he realizes that she's _underage._ She doesn't look older than fifteen.

She does, too, by the way she obviously shrinks away from him, although her expression is controlled. If a while ago she was dismissive, now she is cautious. _Another mistake,_ Dean chastises.

"Uh, yeah, do you serve breakfast here?" he asks, dropping the act but turning up a more bashful one. He scratches the back of his neck for good measure.

The girl seems to buy it. "Yeah. Cafeteria's that way." She points to a door on their right, covered with posters and old calendars. The one on top is of the current year, although it doesn't look like they took off any of the calendars from past years.

"That a memoir, or something?" he asks, curiosity getting the best of him. He puts it down as an excuse to get to know their environment better. _Don't know what information about a door would mean, but whatever_.

"Ah, yeah," the girl says, not even looking up from her phone. _A game,_ Dean sees. "My granddad said it's like their timestamp or something. The door dates back to the 1930s. Given to my great grandparents as a wedding gift, or something."

"The _door_?"

"The wood."

"Oh."

"Yeah."

 _Talk about awkward._ Her social skills leave much to be desired, but Dean lets her off. She's not his daughter. At least he now knows she's the place's daughter - probably runs the family business while her family is out, but she seems to young to not be in school. Vacation, maybe? Or she probably studied at the local high school. Was there even a high school close by here?

He shakes his head at the questions, pushing the door open and letting himself be overwhelmed by the smells of cooking and kitchen and _food_. There aren't any other scents in the area, and that strikes Dean as odd. He tries to scent the air, but then -

The girl didn't have a scent, either. Scent blockers? He doesn't remember wearing an olfactory jammer. He frowns. He'll have to get some of their soap.

He makes his way to the counter, ordering some coffee and some heavy breakfast, before going to a table by the window. There aren't many people in the cafeteria - just an old lady reading the paper, and two staff behind the counter. Business is slow, then? Or maybe it was just too early?

His coffee arriving distracts him from further cataloguing the motel, and for a moment he's thankful. He breathes the scent of coffee in, and allows himself a sip. It's not half bad. Actually, it's not bad at all - their coffee is pretty good. Roasted, brewed - with the slightest hint of sweetness. Maybe he will ask for some of their coffee, too. Or at least get to know where they get their beans. It's _amazing_.

He wolfs down half of his breakfast and eats the other half much slower, watching as more people trickle into the cafeteria for breakfast. There's a family of four - female omega, male alpha; seven year old girl and a toddler boy. The toddler blinks sleepily at Dean, and he tries his best to put up a smile. The boy smiles back.

Next comes a lone male beta, taking a seat just a few tables away from Dean. He nurses one cup of coffee, and only one for the rest of his stay. When the old lady from before stands up to leave, Dean decides it's time to get his body moving. He stands up, asks to be billed in their room, and goes to the back.

When he checks the building, he confirms that the fire exits are there. There's a pool, too, and then behind that there's a parking lot. He sees the car they rented at the airport last night and grimaces. He misses his Baby. Maybe he'll ask Cas to go on a drive with him, when they get back to Seraph. Take him on a small trip, to the park, get some dinner... and he's getting ideas again.

He sighs. The sun has risen even higher, and it's gotten even hotter. Dean's shirt is sticking to his back. The sparkling pool is looking more and more inviting, but he perseveres. Maybe he should start with push-ups - there's a clean space right under the shed.

He takes off his shirt and walks towards the shade.

 _Time to get physical_.

**.**

It feels completely horrible.

At least the retching had stopped, but his stomach is still twisted into knots, and his head aches like someone has been pounding on it with a hammer. There's ringing in his ears and his eyes won't stop watering. He's sweating and he feels disgusting, he wants it to end, it's far too _noisy_ , it's too _hot, make it stop, why is it burning, god this is terrible_ -

"Easy," someone says, and he wants to scream, _easy my ass, you're not the one in hell, I am, make it stop, make it stop, make it stop make it stop make it stopmakeitstopmakeitstop -_

Finally, mercifully, everything goes black.

**.**

Castiel stares at the unconscious boy on the bed, hands folded in front of him, three boxes - _three, two of which are the strongest I've ever seen -_ of medication surrounding him, spent and empty. Sam had fallen ill just half an hour to their destination, starting with a fever. He had passed it off as travel sickness, but when his temperature continued to rise, Castiel became unsure.

It had been Anna, bless her, who finally grabbed Sam by the wrist and forced him to face the truth - he'd developed it, he had gotten it, he has it - he has Spiral, the swirling pattern on his skin confirms it, and then he asked to stop the car to retch what little food he had been able to swallow.

Castiel feels hollow, his hand drifting to Sam's forehead. At least his temperature had finally gone down, but that's only after Castiel had given him a third shot, after Sam had started screaming. Anna is sitting by the foot of Sam's bed, still wiping him down with a cloth doused in a mixture of water and rubbing alcohol. Adam and James had both fallen asleep as soon as Adam forced the door open, panting with the burden of worrying for _both_ of his brothers now.

"Has it ever gotten that bad for you?" he murmurs, remembering the screaming, Sam's pleading to just _make it stop_ , and tries to recall if he had ever felt the way Sam must have. Burning? Castiel had gotten fevers before, yes, when his Spiral levels would spike and his immune system would weaken, but never to the point of _burning_.

Anna looks up from her task with haunted eyes, a tear slipping down her cheek and Castiel's breath catches. "If we were like him," she answers, voice soft with grief and an emotion Castiel couldn't place, "maybe. But he isn't like us, and it's much worse for him than it ever will be for us."

Castiel blinks. "How do we make it better, then? Is there a way we can make it easier for him?"

She laughs, humorless and completely exhausted. "Unless you can find a way to cut the illness away from him, no."

"You don't mean - " Castiel stops. He takes a deep breath, fortifies himself with it. "You don't mean that this is a side-effect of what was done to him, do you?"

"It's not a side-effect, no," she says. She shakes her head, looking morose. "This _is_ what was done to him, Castiel. This is his body, now. It has made him sick once, and it's only going to get worse from here." She licks her lips. "If he survives... if he survives, he might not be the same Sam you used to know."

"What - what does that _mean?_ " Castiel asks, almost demands, and Anna looks up at him, her eyes teary but determined.

"When they changed his DNA, they changed it on the assumption that he'd have an Alpha's body. He will be strong, a natural predator. Apex, if you would say. They didn't think about how it would affect him if he _wasn't_ an Alpha, if he was a Beta, or an Omega. They didn't even think of the Spiral, of pregnancy, of _anything_ except for the experiment to succeed.

"Well, it succeeded. It weeded out the weak, and left the strong. Except there's only two of them left, now. and there can only be one. If Dean doesn't kill Sam, he'll do it himself, and he won't even know why he's dying."

Castiel is too shocked to say anything.

No, it's not shock.

He's _horrified_.

He thinks his life after he was taken from his parents had been a horror show. Now it looks like a walk in the park, compared to the horrors that the Winchesters and their friends had faced. Why - why would anyone _think_ of that? Isn't the world horrific enough as it is? Did they really have to add _more_?

He doesn't realize he's tearing up until he feels a warm hand on his shoulder, and he looks up to see Anna smiling down at him softly. "Rest," she tells him. "Rest, you need to go back in the morning, right?"

Castiel nods, looking at Sam once more.

"I'll take care of him," Anna murmurs. "I've had my children. I can do this much. You go to sleep, okay?"

"Okay," Castiel whispers, terror seizing his heart as he stands up. He fumbles with his phone, almost going through with calling Dean already, when he pauses to take a breath. There's no need to alarm Dean over something as trivial as this.

Dean is on a mission, and Sam will be okay. He is _going to be okay_. He leaves the room and goes to the living room, the blinds closed and the door locked - four times, with four locks - and lays down on the couch. It's hard, and uncomfortable, and far too short for him. He's going to get a crick in his neck in the morning if he sleeps here.

He curls up on his side, bringing his phone to his face.

Dean's contact is still pulled up, a picture of him smiling in the background of his information. He decides to send a message.

He closes his eyes, praying for sleep to claim him, and _quick_ , because if he doesn't, the thoughts are going to claim him and he might just end up going crazy. It takes a while, but, finally, he drops off.

**.-.**

It's _noisy_.

There are so many voices talking, and you still don't understand what's happening. Something falls by your foot, but you're so desensitized that you aren't even surprised. When you look, it's to find someone's shoe. You look up.

 _Oh, hello_. There's a small girl looking down on you. She must be in pain - she's pressed against the bars of her _cage_ , her arms dangling down towards you uselessly. There's another person on top of her - you can't see who they are, but you can hear the _drip drip drip_ of blood. They might be dead.

They're probably dead.

In hindsight, the girl might be, too.

You look away. It's getting even noisier - more voices, more movement, and finally, the car stops. The door opens and you're the first one to get dragged out of the trunk. You're useful, here, and if you're useful, you get food. You don't get thrown into the Room and you don't get the painful shots that make the other kids scream. So you have to make yourself useful.

The other Useful Kids are already inside the sleeping room, and you bunker down to rest as well. You don't look each other in the eyes, here. You made that mistake once, when you were younger. There's no hope in anyone's eyes here. There is sadness, and anger. There's fear. But there's no hope - there's no happiness, there's no light. You close your eyes and hope that nothing bad happens while you sleep.

But you can't, you can't sleep, and you stand up. You're allowed to walk around, but you're not allowed inside the Room unless you're being dragged there, like the other kids were. Your chest hurts when you leave the sleeping room, because there are so many other kids right outside of it, kids who are not Useful and kids who will go crazy and then die. Some of them are asleep. Most of them look at you and you feel cold because it's _hatred_ in those eyes, they hate you.

You're looking at another boy. He's sitting in front of you, and you sit down in front of him. He stays quiet. You don't ask for his name, because you know what it is. _Joseph_. He had told you before you led him to this place. Because you are Useful, and because you want dinner. So you made him come here.

In the sleeping room, you go back to your small bed. You cover your head with your blanket and you close your eyes.

The door opens in front of you. You're laughing, because Mama and Papa are finally here to bring you home. There's food on the table - hot potatoes, and celery. You don't really like celery. But you sit down anyway, because Papa told you to, and you all start eating.

They're probably dead.

You're in a car, and you hear them talking that Mama and Papa are probably dead.

**.-.**

Castiel's eyes fly open, his heart beating fast and mind running even faster. He hasn't had _that_ particular nightmare in a while, and he feels even more exhausted than when he went to sleep the night before. He breathes out. His phone tells him it's barely 3 in the morning, but he decides four hours of sleep is more than enough. It'll take him another ten to get back to Seraph, he can go back to sleep then.

He stands up, headrush making him feel dizzy. When he cheks his phone again, it's to find that he hadn't sent the message to Dean the night before - he had fallen asleep before he was able to. He sighs, and sends the message anyway, although a few hours late. They're probably not in the same timezone, so it's not like it'll matter.

He checks on Sam first, finding him still asleep. His temperature is back to normal, and his coloring seems to be okay. He tells Anna that he's leaving.

"Be safe," she says, and then she remains quiet, her eyes trained on Sam's still frame.

He goes to the other bedroom. James is still asleep, curled on her side, facing away from Adam. Adam, on the other hand, is wide awake - he's typing away on a laptop Castiel has never seen before, and he thinks it's probably a device his brother had left in this house before he...

Before he died.

"I'm going back," Castiel says soflty, knocking on the door once. "You take care, alright?"

Adam looks up at him and nods. "We'll be alright. It's gonna be alright, Castiel."

Castiel nods. Before he leaves, he leaves the last of his Spiral medication on the coffee table, hoping it'll be enough to at least stave off Sam's symptoms. He rests his forehead on the steering wheel, once he climbs the car. He feels so _tired_ , and he doesn't think that a few hours of sleeping is going to help him feel any better.

He turns the engine on, and then drives away.

He looks at the apartment over the rearview mirror, and a pang of sentimentality hits him. It's probably the last view of it his brother had seen, too, before he died. And Castiel couldn't even have spared a few minutes to appreciate it, to celebrate the home he could have had.

The irony of everything, huh? It almost feels like the universe is trying to laugh at him, trying to rub his misery into his face.

"I know," he says, to nothing, to the wind whipping his hair, to the universe. "I know." _I know I'm miserable. I know it's horrible. What more do you want from me?_

He drives. He drives, and he drives, and he ignores the world. If Dean was with him, he's sure that the Alpha would chastise him and tell him to enjoy the view, love the ride. He wants to be grateful for every little thing: that the spring on the driver's seat isn't digging into his spine, that the engine is running smoothly, and that his gas tank is filled enough that he doesn't need to stop at a station to fill up during the whole ride.

But the feeling wouldn't come, and he would rather not be insincere. He has had enough of insincerity. He wants to be grateful, at least a little bit, so he whispers a small _thank you_ to the wind that he had found and gotten Anna away on time, that he's probably gonna get back to Seraph without delay.

For those, his chest warms up a little and he feels relief.

It's shortlived, because he remembers that he'll be arriving home to another set of problems - although he would rather they weren't. He still isn't sure what to make of the Braedens. Lisa is friendly, and she is loving, and Ben is bright and cheerful. They seem like the perfect little family, father or no, and Castiel still does not know what event pushed Lisa into so much desperation that she had to go back to Seraph to ask for help.

He doesn't think he wants to know, but he still wants to help them, wants to get them as far away from Seraph as soon as possible. He slows down and rests his head on the steering wheel again, allowing himself five minutes of rest once more. After that, he's going to keep going. He'll fight as hard as he can to get Lisa and Ben the help they need, and then he'll tell them to leave.

He hopes that Adam has figured it out by then. He did say he knew how to end the whole thing. Castiel simply has to hope that whatever it is will help and not put them into any more danger.

He drives, and he keeps driving.

_Move forward. Keep moving forward._

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ya'll i'm so sorry this is so late, and i'm so sorry that it's so short. struggling w/ life and school and my muse going missing just... hurts, like hell, and forcing myself to write is even harder.
> 
> chapters might take even longer from now on, but i swear i will finish this series if it takes me forever. i love ya'll for sticking with me. pls keep up the support ~~i need it~~
> 
> [ come spazz with me!!! ](http://www.ehre-wahrheit.tumblr.com/ask)


End file.
